Among Enemies
by Camille
Summary: PERMANENTLY UNCOMPLETED: Amid plans of conspiracy, plans for coup d'etats, and the impending crime of the century, it is up to Harry to prevent his own destruction.
1. Prologue

(AE Prologue)

  * _**Disclaimer:** None of the characters or concepts associated with J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter novels belong to me, everything else does unless otherwise noted at the beginning of a chapter. _
  * **Summary: **Amid plans of conspiracy, plans for coup d'etats, and the impending crime of the century, it is up to Harry to prevent his own destruction. With the help of his two best friends and the crazy antics of a certain raven-haired dueler, Harry prepares to fight the battle of a lifetime, one that could very well be his last.
  * **IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: **This is the sequel to HP and the Legend of the Golden Serpent. It is highly recommened that you read the GS first if you haven't already.

  
**_

Among Enemies  


_**By Camille  
  


_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
**Prologue **  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  


"All events, present or future, have been preconceived, whether as a dream, a theory, or even a joke Nothing new comes into creation, but instead to creation comes a derivation of the past, and with each new creation, human, animal, or object, energy is transferred, not made.  
  
An extremely powerful use of force requires the presence of an equally powerful catalyst energy.  
  
It is our recommendation, after thirteen years of study, that further investigation be provided into the amazing survival of Harry Potter.  
  
The mysteries and inconsistencies following the boy's life warrant further questioning of Mr. Potter's nature  
  
blatant fabrication of tales claiming the inconceivable innocence of Sirius Black  
  
the unconfirmed assailant in the murder of Cedric Diggory is still at large, and Potter is still claiming a ludicrous tale of placing responsibility upon He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  
  
an unbalanced force is unhealthy to the fabric of our existence, and until the mysteries revolving around Harry Potter can be absolved, there is a present, if not clear, danger posed to our society.  
  
While our constituents are continuing to rejoice in the boy's survival, it is not our place to join in the celebrations, but to put aside the public sentiment and focus on the more pressing matter at hand: The implications of the boy's survival." 

  
  
Minister Corneilius Fudge slowly lowered the report to his desk, and at the same time, reached into his pocket and withdrew a gray handkerchief, which he used to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.  
  
"You are not serious," he ordered as he jumped up, his eyes narrowed at the two before him. "This, this is utterly ridiculous! The very notion, the very thought!"  
  
The man before him took a step forward, placing his hands on Fudge's desk, and hunching over, so that he looked up at the Minister behind drooped eyelids.   
  
"We are not in the business of fooling around. The report is serious. Our findings are serious. Our request for your approval is serious," the man paused for a second, and then straightened, his white-blonde hair reflecting the dusk glow filtering through the office windows. "Serious as Avada Kedavra."  
  
Fudge flinched. "I don't know. I don't know," he mumbled, sitting into his chair, suddenly feeling the strength in his legs give out. He once again reached for the report, this time with trembling hands.  
  
"Serious as Avada Kedavra," Fudge murmured, staring at the report. "You question his motives then?"   
  
Lucius Malfoy stared at Fudge for a moment, a small smirk playing on the corner of his thin lips. "I question his existence. I question his future."  
  
Fudge stroked the bottom of his chin, breathing out a long and uncomfortable sigh. His eyes fell on the other person in the room, who had turned away from the desk and was looking at the far wall, where a floor to ceiling bookcase ran its length. It was filled to capacity with books, some withered and tattered, some new and still in their magi-seal casing. There were framed newspaper articles scattered along the shelves, and Fudge could see that the man was staring at the Daily Prophet article dated November 1, 1981.   
  
Fudge turned his attention back to Mr. Malfoy, who had sat in one of the high backed, velvet chairs that stood before the Minister's desk. Malfoy had his fingers tented before him, and was staring intently at Fudge.   
  
Holding back a shiver, Fudge preceded to continue the meeting. "Do you question his sister?" Fudge asked, realizing that not once Adrienne was mentioned in the report, although Dumbledore had informed Fudge about her existence earlier in the year, classified information which he had surreptitiously let leak to the Department of Mysteries.   
  
"She poses no threat," Lucius answered.  
  
"She's just as mysterious as Harry seems to be," Fudge argued, not moving.   
  
Lucius smiled an ominous grin that showed his perfectly white teeth. Fudge couldn't shake the feeling that Lucius was now mocking him.  
  
"She is not a parselmouth. She didn't claim a story that Sirius Black was innocent, and instead, the dead Peter Pettigrew had risen and confessed to assisting with the murder of Lily and James Potter. She did not disappear from the Tri-Wizard Tournament and return with a dead competitor, the only competitor that stood in the way of victory. And, may I remind you Minister, she did not vanquish the Dark Lord at the age of fifteen months. She is not under suspicion," Lucius said in a cold, slow drawl.   
  
Fudge looked away in thought, his hand moving from his chin to his mouth, where it rested on his lips in contemplation.   
  
"We have reason to believe that Harry Potter is a threat to us," Lucius continued. "And if he is a threat to us, he is a threat to you, Minister."  
  
Fudge turned back to stare at Lucius. "What do you mean by that?" he asked in a low voice, a slight growl appearing when it hadn't since he was a young man.  
  
"He means, Minister, that there is only one logical reason why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would want to be rid of the boy." The other man had redirected his attention from the bookshelf and was striding over to the desk.  
  
"I'll give you one guess to what that reason would be," Lucius said, placing his folded hands at the edge of Fudge's desk.   
  
"You Know Who saw him as a threat," Fudge whispered, his eyes widening as the answer dawned on him.  
  
"Precisely," Lucius answered, leaning forward.   
  
"He knew, Minister, he knew something about little Harry Potter that no one else did. And we are only now beginning to piece it together," the other man answered, sitting down next to Lucius.  
  
"And it's becoming more visible with each year. Harry Potter could very well be the next Dark Lord," Lucius answered.  
  
Fudge didn't reply to this. He stayed sitting for a moment, staring at Lucius, but found that he could no longer look at the man, and instead drew himself up from the chair and walked around his desk, his Italian shoes making no noise on the thick carpeting.   
  
"Fudge, if we do not continue our investigation and Potter does indeed transform into a miniature replica of the Dark Lord, it will only be a matter of time before the public finds out that we, for all these years, had known about Potter, but never chose to investigate it further. The destruction of our way of life, our safe society, the world we have re-built, will lie solely upon your shoulders then, Fudge. It will be your head that hangs for it." Lucius' voice was silky and low, a menacing hiss resonating that Fudge didn't pick up on.   
  
Fudge stared at the article standing in a gold frame on the bookcase. The very article that had announced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat. Fudge slowly looked away, his eyes suddenly weary, not fixating on anything in particular, his mind racing.  
  
"Minister, you alone have the power to prevent the onslaught of another Dark Era. If we can prove Potter's true intentions, you will be remembered for all time as the one who saved us from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's successor."  
  
Fudge slowly looked over his shoulder. Lucius and the other man were sitting with their backs to him, still staring at where Fudge had been moments earlier.   
  
"Sign our request. Let us finish the investigation, and we promise you, Minister, that we will expose Harry Potter by the end of his sixth term at Hogwarts. You can then decide what to do with him, how to administer punishment to the embodiment of evil who is right now planning his ascension into power," Lucius said, his voice even softer. "Let us finish our investigation. Let us finally bring peace to our world."  
  
Lucius stared, his face expressionless except for the faint smirk at the corners of his unaged face. His gray eyes were locked on the small reflection of Fudge provided by the silver bowl on the shelf behind his desk. Lucius' smile grew as Fudge began, ever so slowly, to walk back to his desk, an elderly hand reaching into the breast pocket of his suit.  
  
"Do I have your assurances that your investigation will be up to a respectable standard?" Fudge asked as he took his seat, twirling his quill between his fingers, and flipping through the pages of the report lying open on his desk.  
  
"We will follow all the rules of fairness, but with all due respect, Minister, we can't guarantee how useful our usual techniques may be against such a boy. He's outsmarted everyone for so long. We may need to use less conventional techniques," Lucius answered, eyeing Fudge for a reaction.   
  
Fudge stared at him, trying to read his expression. "You will use techniques that will not embarrass me, that will not come back to haunt me later, will you not?" Fudge asked, but his tone of voice indicated it was not a request, but an order.  
  
Lucius nodded. "Minister, you have our word."  
  
Fudge slowly dipped his quill into the inkbottle, and then signed his name upon the dotted line that Lucius had indicated.  
  
  
**  
**


	2. The Final Straw

1: The Final Straw

**Among Enemies**

by Camille

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________________________________________________________

  
  
_**Disclaimer: **This story is based after the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. Adrienne, Mia, Joe, and everyone else whom does not appear in the canon were created by me. All other characters, places, situations, and events are owned by JKR, Warner Bros, and whoever else is lucky enough to have the rights. _   
  
**

-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ -  
  
Chapter One: The Final Straw  
-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ -  


**  
  
Harry Potter rolled over in his bed, and slowly opened one heavy lid while hoping against hope that he had been mistaken. He hadn't been. A bright early morning sun was rising outside his window, its rays pushing through his half closed drapes and falling into the room in a long pillar of light, which just happened to fall across his semi-sleeping head.  
  
Harry opened his other eye and glared at the window, cursing himself for not having properly closed the drapes. He lay there a moment longer, and then, accustoming himself to the fact that there was no way that the sun would delay its rising just because he wanted it to, Harry flung his hand out from under his sheets, which he'd had since he was eleven, and had been a hand-me-down from Dudley's brief, but expensive, "I love Superman" phase, and swung his hand at his bedside table, wrapping his fingers around his glasses.  
  
With a deep sigh, he pulled himself into a sitting position, propping his pillow behind him as he single-handedly put his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. With an unceremonious "whoosh" of deflating air, Harry sank back against his headboard, confirming his belief that someone had drastically unstuffed his pillow. He had been so tired the night before, that when he collapsed into bed, still fully clothed, he had only half felt his head sinking through the pillow.  
  
Harry reached back and pulled the pathetically limp paisley printed pillow from behind him and tossed it into a corner, through the makeshift basketball hoop he had constructed the previous year from bits of used aluminum foil which he had so bravely rescued from the dust bin. It had proved itself to be a great stress reliever, as every time he started one of his many summer assignments wrong, he just crumpled it up and tossed it at the hoop. Though, it did provoke a dramatic rise in his use of parchment. A year after its creation though, the hoop was in poor condition, having been bent by poor shots. It also looked, as Harry stared at it, that the sellotape was loosing its stick.  
  
While most boys his age had sports paraphernalia adorning their rooms, though perhaps not made of salvaged aluminum foil, Harry seriously doubted that any child on Privet Drive had a bedroom that rivaled his own modest abode. The walls were a plain white, nothing exciting like the dramatic blue that adorned Dudley's walls, but also nothing as terrifying as the bright magenta that Aunt Petunia had selected for the master bedroom. The flooring was wood, like the rest of the house, but Harry's bedroom wasn't kept up to the lunatic standards of his aunt, and thus his flooring was dull and dusty, and if Harry didn't wear his shoes, gave horribly painful splinters.   
  
Against one wall Harry had his desk, which, out of the four drawers, only one worked. The desk was a little lopsided and Harry had propped up the shorter leg with his first year Potions text. Then there was the bed, which was covered with a dull green bedspread, which had definitely seen better days. And next to that was Harry's bedside table: A cardboard box that he had filled with bricks before closing. Harry was quite proud of his ingenuity.   
  
But the most intriguing part of his room was the middle. In the middle of his floor, atop an unraveling Christmas red and green rug, lay his large, black school trunk. It was open, and spilling over one side were several black robes, which Harry had neglected to hang up. He winced at the thought of ironing them. Trying to launder his wizarding clothing with Muggle means always ended up causing more work than it would be to just take a trip down to Diagon Alley and buy new ones.   
  
If he'd only have listened to Hermione and properly packed his clothing, he wouldn't have to spend a week trying to loosen the wrinkles. Hermione had even offered to help him pack his trunk, though only after observing, with a horrified expression, his method of packing, which included him and Ron tossing objects from across the room and earning points for every item that made it into the trunk. Harry had balked though, deciding he didn't want Hermione going through and organizing his robes, shirts, pants, socks, and definitely not his boxers. The idea just didn't sit well with him.  
  
Harry smiled as he surveyed his room. Overlooking the empty owl cage on the end of his desk; the trunk filled with spell books, wizards robes, and by the smell of it, a Potion's cauldron he had forgotten to clean out; Harry almost had what he hoped was the bedroom typical of a soon to be sixteen year old boy.  
  
Harry would have languished in bed until either his aunt or uncle came pounding at his door, calling him a foul name, and ordering him to come downstairs and begin his obligatory summer of torture - though they wouldn't use those words - had it not been for the sharp tapping sound against his window.  
  
"Hedwig!" Harry gasped and threw back the rest of his covers. "I completely forgot!"   
  
Harry jumped out of bed and lunged toward the window. With a brief tug, he finished drawing the drapes. There, on the other side of the glass, perched on the sill, was a rather flustered looking Hedwig.  
  
"I am so sorry," he moaned as he threw up the sash and sidestepped to let Hedwig in. She didn't reply, but flew straight toward her open cage and strutted in, positioning herself so her back faced him and ruffled her feather's indignantly.  
  
Hedwig hadn't wanted to take the train back from Hogwarts, so Harry had let her fly instead, knowing that she'd expect him to have his window open for her return and her cage filled with owl treats for after the journey. Hedwig, upon realizing that her cage wasn't storing any owl treats, hooted in protest.  
  
"Shh you know they'll get upset," Harry hissed at her as he rummaged around the sock-filled bottom of his trunk for the tin of owl treats.  
  
When he had finished feeding Hedwig and had braved the horrors of his closet (Aunt Petunia had once again restocked the closet with Dudley's outgrown clothes, which were bad enough to wear under his school robes, but torture to wear alone) he made his way downstairs, making sure to clomp down the steps, announcing his arrival to the rest of the house.  
  
"That owl of yours either shuts up or goes," Uncle Vernon spat by way of morning greeting as Harry entered the kitchen. Aunt Petunia turned away form the sink to glare at him, crossing her arms, soapy from washing a frying pan, before her.  
  
"Good morning to you too," Harry replied, taking his seat at the table.   
  
The table was scattered with dishes and the sections of the morning paper that his uncle had already read. It took Harry only a matter of moments to realize that there was no place setting for him. Harry glanced up at Aunt Petunia, who hadn't turned back to her dishes. She met his stare, challenging him to complain. With a sigh, Harry pushed back his chair.  
  
"Mind the flooring: It's new," Uncle Vernon barked, not looking up from his paper.   
  
Harry glanced down at the pine flooring, which was so finely polished that his reflection stared back up at him.  
  
"Nice," Harry murmured as he walked to the china cabinet, minding his step as Aunt Petunia had used a bit too much polish and the floor had a slight slip to it. Harry pulled a plate and glass out and made his way back to the table.  
  
There was one biscuit left, a spoonful of scrambled eggs, and two pieces of bacon. Harry was about to comment on how unusually good everything looked when a quick hand flew across the table, the fingers swiping up the biscuit, dropping it atop the eggs, and grabbing the bacon before depositing the platter atop the dirty plate before the hand's owner.  
  
Harry turned, mouth half open in protest, to glare at Dudley, who had begun to shove the biscuit into his mouth. It had been two years since Dudley's school nurse had mandated a diet, and Harry had to admit that although Dudley had suffered those two years, he definitely wasn't suffering now. Dudley, sitting in a black tank, was the spitting image of what a properly bred teenage boy should look like, minus the mouth stuffed with biscuit. He had slimmed down substantially, and had added onto his body a great amount of muscle. His face had matured from his former babyish state, his pale skin now replaced with a light tan, which was only accentuated by his now strong jaw and well defined cheekbones. His blue eyes were bright and his hair was neatly styled in the latest fashion. Harry angrily turned back to his empty plate.  
  
Great, Harry thought, Dudley's miraculously transformed into the embodiment of male glory and I Harry leaned to his side to stare at his reflection on the floor I still look like I'm eleven. This was a bit of an exaggeration, but it matched Harry's already foul mood. Harry reached up and rubbed his temples, realizing that he suddenly had a headache. This, coupled with his rumbling stomach, didn't do anything for his already depressing day.  
  
"I think I'll just have some cereal," he mumbled as he opened the pantry door. Aunt Petunia slammed it shut from behind him.  
  
"I think not," she responded, "If you can't get up at a reasonable time to eat with us, then you don't eat breakfast at all." Her face was pale and her jaw set.  
  
"But, I'm hungry," Harry responded, not believing his ears.   
  
"No time to eat anyway, you're to start today. I'll drop you off on the way to the factory."  
  
Uncle Vernon's comment made Harry completely forget about his hunger pains as he had the funny feeling that his stomach had just liquefied.  
  
"What?" he asked as he spun around to face his uncle, a mountain of dread building where his stomach was supposed to be.  
  
"Your job, it's time you started earning your keep. You start today," Uncle Vernon replied over his newspaper, a small smirk playing on the corners of his mouth.  
  
"It's right up your alley, Harry, matches your abilities perfectly," laughed Dudley, his blue eyes sparkling maliciously.  
  
"I can't have a job!" Harry replied, a slight twinge of desperation in his voice.  
  
"How does helping at the dump sound? Big money there!" Dudley screamed in laughter.  
  
"I can't have a job!" Harry repeated and then glared at Dudley. "And I would never work at a dump."  
  
Uncle Vernon set down his paper, which he always did when preparing to berate Harry. Dudley smiled in anticipation, forgetting all about his scrambled eggs.  
  
"And why is that?" Uncle Vernon asked in a low voice, his eyebrows raised, and Harry had the sudden feeling that he could very well loose this argument to his uncle. "Why, can't you have a job?"  
  
But before Harry could answer, a distraction in the form of a white snowy owl soaring through the open window above the sink and barely missing Aunt Petunia, appeared. The owl gracefully swooped toward Harry, landing on his shoulder and holding out her leg.  
  
"What is this?" Uncle Vernon screamed, though he knew perfectly well. "I've had it with your ruddy owl! Wakes us up, squawks all the time, and now interrupts breakfast! It's gone!"  
  
The owl ruffled its feathers and tightened her grip on Harry's shoulder, sensing that all the ruckus was about her.  
  
"This isn't Hedwig," Harry replied, raising his hands complacently. "This one's name is Hecate; she isn't mine."  
  
Uncle Vernon didn't seem to believe him. "Dare I ask who's it is?"  
  
"My s - " Harry stopped and glanced between his aunt and uncle. Surely they knew that Harry was a twin, and surely they knew what had supposedly happened to his sister. Harry stared at Uncle Vernon's purple face and decided that this wasn't the time to play family reunion. "My friend's," Harry replied, smiling stupidly and nodding his head.   
  
Uncle Vernon didn't look very happy, but before he could think of something to yell back at Harry, Harry had already removed the letter from Hecate's leg, pocketed it, and motioned for her to leave. The owl leapt into the air and flew right toward Aunt Petunia, who screamed and ducked, and Hecate flew out the window.  
  
"All nonsense, using birds to carry messages. It's lunacy I tell you!" Uncle Vernon exclaimed, turning his attention to Aunt Petunia, who had gone, if possible, even paler and was holding a hand to her chest and breathing heavily. "Well, there'll be no more nonsense today. Boy, get up to your room and change. We'll need to leave soon if I'm to drop you off at the dump and not be late to the factory."  
  
Dudley burst into laughter again, and had to lower his head to the table in order to breathe.  
  
"Boy! I don't expect to tell you again!" Uncle Vernon shouted at Harry, who hadn't moved.  
  
"I told you, I can't work this summer," Harry replied. "And if you refuse to feed me," he continued, turning to Aunt Petunia, "that's fine. I'll just find a better way to eat until I leave."  
  
"Did you not hear me, boy?" Uncle Vernon had stood up, puffed his chest out in anger, and balled his fists at his side. Harry noticed that Uncle Vernon's left eye was beginning to twitch also.  
  
"I heard you," Harry replied, meeting Uncle Vernon's stare and feeling his courage fail, but he stood his ground. "I'm not staying here this summer. I'll be leaving for my friend Ron's house; you know, the one who's dad blew up your living room?" Harry watched Uncle Vernon's face as fear trickled across it. "Then I'm meeting my girlfriend Hermione, the one who took me to America last summer - you remember - and us three are going visiting."  
  
"You will do nothing of the sort!" Uncle Vernon shouted, regaining his composure, his nostrils flaring.  
  
Harry stared at his uncle, suddenly remembering how much he disliked him, Aunt Petunia, and especially Dudley, even more now that he had turned into a walking underwear model Harry raised a hand to his stomach and cursed himself for thinking such a horrifying thought. If he ever saw Dudley less than half dressed, he'd go blind.   
  
Uncle Vernon, taking Harry's silence for submissiveness, smirked in satisfaction. "Now, boy, get up to your room and change. There will be no more talk of your kind. There will be no more talk of you traveling."  
  
Harry blinked but didn't reply; instead he walked forward, around his Uncle Vernon, and then clumped up the stairwell.  
  
"You need to take a firm hand with delinquents, Petunia." Harry could hear Uncle Vernon's voice wafting up the stairs. "I've always said if we just showed him who's boss, we'd get better behavior out of him."  
  
Harry grunted at this remark and pushed his door open. Hedwig turned as he entered, her eyes still narrowed in anger at him for forgetting to open the window. Harry clicked his tongue at her, and she turned back to face the corner, not ready to allow him to be graced by her presence just quite yet. Harry, kicking off his shoes, sat down on his bed, and ran a hand through his hair.   
  
"Fine, I'll go today. But tomorrow, Hedwig, tomorrow we'll leave," he murmured, sliding off the bed and kneeling by his trunk.   
  
Hedwig slowly turned around, wondering exactly what he was proposing. She watched through her beady eyes as Harry rummaged through his trunk and then pulled out his small money pouch. He had exchanged money at Gringotts while in America, asking for sterling instead of dollars. He had decided it would be beneficial to have some money for when he returned back to Privet Drive, exactly for this occasion.   
  
By the time Harry returned to the kitchen, Aunt Petunia had already finished dishes and was smoothing a new tablecloth over the table, every once in a while looking up to glare at him through narrowed eyes.  
  
"I made you a lunch," she said as if it pained her to admit she was stooping low enough to do such a thing. "It's in the paper bag." She indicated the bag's location with a nod of her head.   
  
This was a new position on his aunt's behalf that Harry'd never expected, nor witnessed before. Since he could remember, Aunt Petunia had always refused to pack him lunches or snacks, and Harry always went hungry at school, biding his time until he could return home and eat dinner, though his portions were never exactly filling.   
  
"Um, thanks," Harry answered as he picked up the light bag from the counter and peered into it. A small, bruised apple and half a peanut-butter sandwich in a baggy was what constituted his lunch. Harry knew better to complain though, and smiled again at his aunt, who was walking out of the kitchen, and then followed her, swinging the bag precariously.   
  
"Boy, you ready?" came Uncle Vernon's gruff voice as Harry neared the door.   
  
"I have a sandwich," Harry replied in monotone, holding up his bag as if now, armed with his sandwich, he could face anything.   
  
Uncle Vernon stared angrily at Harry, trying to decide if Harry was mocking him or not, but decided he wasn't. Uncle Vernon leaned over and pecked his wife on the cheek and then winked at Dudley, who was leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed before him.  
  
"Come on boy," Uncle Vernon ordered as he opened the front door.  
  
"Sure you'll fit right in there at the dump!" Dudley laughed.  
  
Harry didn't reply, though he had several good quips just waiting to leap off his tongue, and he followed his uncle out the door.  
  
Uncle Vernon drove a very nice dark green Mercedes, which Harry had never ridden in. Harry paused when he realized that Uncle Vernon was indeed going to allow him to ride in the car, though, Harry noticed that the entire backseat had been lined with old towels.  
  
"You sit back there," Uncle Vernon ordered as he climbed into the car. "And don't try and pry back the towels, no sense in letting you contaminate my car more than necessary."  
  
Harry opened the door and slid into the backseat, resigning himself to the fact that he was on his way to a dump to work among piles of trash "I've reached an all time low," Harry murmured as Uncle Vernon backed out of the drive.   
  
The ride to the Little Whinging Dump was quite uneventful, much to Harry's relief. Uncle Vernon had insisted in ignoring Harry, though he did spend the entire ride mumbling under his breath. At times, Harry could have sworn he'd heard his name, among other words, which he himself had never used. On several occasions Harry opened his mouth to comment on what a nice car his uncle had purchased, remembering clearly when Uncle Vernon had brought it home.  
  
That had been the day that Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had grouped around the freshly waxed car parked in the drive and yelled in loud voices that were sure to carry throughout the street, how rich they were that they could buy a Mercedes. Harry, on the other hand, had used the opportunity to break into the cupboard under the stairs and retrieve his homework assignments and required books from his imprisoned trunk. Harry, though, was truly impressed with his uncle's taste in cars, and would have told him that had Uncle Vernon not glared at him through the rear view mirror every time Harry opened his mouth to say something.   
  
The dump was located at the very edge of the town, and was hidden by a well kept green fence, who's paint had been selected so it would blend in as best as possible with the surrounding greenery. Across the gated entrance was an old wooden sign that at one time had read "Little Whinging Waste Management," but the paint was peeling from the letters, so that instead it now read "Littl Whin ing Wast Man gement."   
  
"Looks like the sign could use some work," Harry mumbled under his breath as Uncle Vernon pulled up to the gate.   
  
The car rolled to a halt and Harry wondered if they had to speak to some security officer before the gates would open for them. It took him a moment to realize that Uncle Vernon had no intentions of driving through the gates at all, which was why he had stopped before them, not because of security reasons.  
  
"Well, boy. You mind the manager. I don't want to hear about you being fired on your first day," his Uncle said in a threatening voice, his eyes meeting Harry's through the rear view mirror. "And no - "  
  
"Funny business," Harry finished for his uncle, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, don't worry. I won't embarrass the _proud_ Dursley name."   
  
Harry threw the door open and stepped out of the car. He noticed that people driving by on the road behind them were staring at Harry and the Mercedes parked before the dump. Harry politely shut the door, madly fighting the desire to slam it, but he couldn't bring himself to treat such a beautiful car that badly, even if it did belong to his uncle. Immediately the Mercedes backed away, Uncle Vernon not even glancing at Harry.  
  
It took Harry a second before he realized that he never asked when he was to be picked up. Shrugging his shoulders, he assumed that Uncle Vernon would just fetch him on his way home from the factory. Harry reluctantly turned toward the gate, his green eyes narrowing behind his glasses. With a large sigh, he began the procession toward the dump, deciding that if he was only going to be working there one day, he may as well give it his best at least make a good impression for his aunt and uncle, to kind of make up for his skipping out on them without their knowing.  
  
Next to the gate, which Harry noticed was beginning to rust, a large man in a dark green uniform was leaning against the wall of a small shack next to the gate, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The man watched Harry approach while straightening up and revealing his true height. Harry couldn't help but drop his jaw slightly. This man was the tallest he had ever seen, or at least the tallest Muggle Harry had ever seen. He was looming near seven feet, his head slightly too small for the proportions of the rest of his body.  
  
"Mornin', the name's Pete. You must be Harry Potter," he said, his cigarette still hanging from his mouth. Pete thrust out a dirty hand, and a lopsided smile revealing crooked yellow teeth, appeared on his face.  
  
"Good morning," Harry replied, taking the man's hand. Harry winced in pain as Pete went on to grip his hand so hard that Harry could have sworn he heard his carpels crack.   
  
"Ya don't look like the type we get a workin' here," Pete said, turning and pulling Harry toward an open door of the shack. "Ya ever done any work in the trash business?" Pete asked.  
  
Pete let go of Harry's throbbing hand.  
  
"No, I haven't," Harry answered.   
  
He was now standing in a small, dimly lit room. In one corner two fold-up chairs sat beside a wooden crate, where a couple yellowed newspapers lay scattered. On the other side was a large metal desk. There were no windows in the room: The only light coming from a bulb hanging from the cement ceiling.  
  
"Well, ya don't need to. No 'sperience necessary." Pete had taken the chair behind the desk and was rummaging around in a drawer, his cigarette still hanging from his mouth, the stench tickling Harry's nose. "Forms ya first need ta fill 'em out."  
  
Pete straightened up from behind the desk and tossed a clipboard at Harry, who deftly caught it, owing no doubt to his skills at all those years chasing the snitch.  
  
"Got a good catch on ya," Pete commented as he walked around the desk. "Be back," he called over his shoulder as he walked through the door on the other side of the room.   
  
Harry stared after Pete for a few moments before retreating to the darkened corner and selecting a chair. It creaked as he sat upon it, and Harry suddenly had the odd feeling that any moment the chair would give out, but somehow it held on. Harry quickly filled out the form, stating his name and address, answering questions concerning his birthday, his parents, and various other necessities. He had just finished when Pete walked back in, carrying a green jump suit just like his own.  
  
"There ain't much to the job," he said as he tossed the jump suit at Harry. "That there's your uniform. Your job ta keep it clean. And mind ya, ya'll need to keep it clean. Ya forget to wash it and the stench will just soak on in ya'll smell like it until the Lord comes to claim his glory." Pete smiled his lopsided grin again and took the clipboard from Harry. He didn't even bother to look at it before tossing it onto his desk.  
  
"Right, keep it clean," Harry answered, standing up and holding the uniform out before him. It was horribly wrinkled, and Harry had the feeling that it wasn't going to fit at all. "So, what exactly am I going to be doing?" he asked, turning his attention to Pete, who had tilted his head to the side and was staring at Harry with squinted eyes.   
  
"What's that there on ya head?" Pete asked, leaning forward to better see Harry's forehead in the dim lighting.  
  
The familiar self-conscious feeling that always overcame Harry when his scar was noticed settled itself in his stomach.   
  
"It's a scar," Harry replied, pulling back his bangs so Pete could get a better look. "I've had it since before I can remember."  
  
Pete nodded his head, his eyes still fixated on the lightening shaped scar. "How ya get it?" Pete pressed.   
  
Harry took a deep breath before answering, realizing that this was the first time in several years that he had to explain the origin of his scar. Those in the magical world never had to ask how Harry received his scar: They all knew the story like they knew their own name. Harry thought for a moment before he spoke. He couldn't tell Pete the real reason his forehead was adorned with a curse-scar. Well, Harry thought, he'd just think I'm bonkers and fire me right off, which really wouldn't be so bad.  
  
"Car accident," Harry answered, "they said I was hit with glass from the windshield I know, I know, funny mark for a piece of flying glass."   
  
"Well, ya never know. Me sister's husband's brother's son was hit with a piece of flyin' glass took off his whole head. Wasn' a pretty sight. Blood everywhere and come to think of it never think they even found the head."  
  
Harry stared at Pete, his eyes slightly widened what a way to go, Harry thought.  
  
"Well, 'pose we should get a move on it. Introduce ya to all the men. Ya can just put your uniform on right over ya clothes," Pete answered, running a hand over the back of his neck, clearly a little put off by his own story.  
  
Within minutes Harry had pulled the green suit over the pair of black jeans and the hole-filled shirt he had pulled from his closet, and the two had made their way through the back door. It seemed that the small shack was indeed the only building on the property, as all Harry could see after he walked through the door was piles of rubbish lying in rows. Flies hovered in dense black clouds over the piles, the buzzing penetrating the air, leaving a constant ringing sound in Harry's ears. There were pools of water lying on the dirt paths between the rows, and Harry hated to think of what was growing in those pools. He made a mental note not to step in any water, thanking the heavens that Pete had tossed a pair of rubber boots to him before they walked through the door. The boots, along with the uniform, which Harry had to roll the sleeves and legs up several times, were too large, and Harry had to be extra careful as he walked so he didn't trip.   
  
Harry followed Pete, trying to listen to what Pete was saying, but he couldn't make it out amid the loud buzzing of the multitudes of flies. They walked around the rows to the far end of the dump where several men were grouped next to three garbage trucks, which were parked under make shift wooden shelters.  
  
The men looked up as Pete approached, nodding their heads to acknowledge his presence.  
  
"We got a new one today," Pete called to them, raising his voice substantially. "He'll be doin' the sortin', thataway ya'll can get on with the collectin' part."  
  
"Well, where is he?" asked a short man. He had walked forward from the group. He had dark leathery skin and didn't have the same accent as Pete. Harry couldn't tell where the man was from, but he knew it wasn't anywhere he'd had ever been.   
  
"Ed, Nate, Larry, I'd like ya'll ta meet Harry Potter." Pete stepped out of Harry's way so the three men could see him.   
  
The largest of the three men, Nate, stared at Harry and then dropped his jaw, his cigarette dropping out of his mouth and falling into a pool of water, where it fizzled slightly. Ed and Larry followed Nate's lead.  
  
"Uh, hi. Nice to meet you?" Harry said uncertainly, not knowing how to respon.   
  
No one answered; instead they doubled over in laughter, hitting their knees with their hands as if Harry's presence was some kind of joke.  
  
"Funny one, Pete. You almost had me. Where'd you find the little boy?" the man called Ed grunted in laughter. His tanned face had taken on the color of a bright tomato.  
  
"Yeah, come off it man you know better than to try and trick me like that!" Nate chimed, tears coming to his eyes as he continued to laugh. "My heart condition just don't take surprises that kindly."  
  
"He's nothing more than a little boy!" Larry added, turning to look at Pete with an amused face.  
  
Very slowly they stopped laughing as Pete's face hardened and he crossed his arms before his large chest.  
  
"You're jokin' us, right?" Ed asked, his face returning to its normal color of finished oak furniture.  
  
"You aren't serious?" Nate said, his face contorted into a surprised grimace.  
  
"You got us a little boy to sort!" Larry exclaimed in an amused tone.  
  
"He ain't that little. Boy turns 16 in a few weeks," Pete said in defense, clearly not amused by his employee's lack of faith in his decision.  
  
Ed, Nate, and Larry sobered up at this, their faces showing their surprise.  
  
"Yeah, well, I guess he isn't that little," Larry muttered, turning to look at Harry, who had gone slightly red with embarrassment.  
  
Harry had had the crazy urge to yell out that he wasn't one to be underestimated he'd done his fair share of hard work through his years. He didn't though, realizing that such an exclamation would be a completely fruitless endeavor.  
  
"So I'm supposed to sort?" Harry asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had befell the group.  
  
"Yup," Pete answered. "See that pile over there?" He pointed to a large pile of garbade bags over slightly behind the trucks. "People throw away glass all the time, but new government orders says that no glass can be dumped got be recycled, ya know that knew finagled idea of savin' the 'vironment. So, ya gotta search through there before we add it to the dump piles."  
  
"Yeah, there's a pair of gloves over on the table," Nate announced, pointing to the small metal table next to the pile. "You really want to wear those gloves."  
  
**

* * * * *  


**  
Harry soon realized why Pete had been so adamant on emphasizing that he'd need to wash his uniform. Every break Harry took, the stench of the trash followed him, clinging to the fibers of the uniform, attaching themselves to the crooks and crannies in the rolls of his pants and arms. The stench was at times enough to make him pass out, and he had all he could do to keep his consciousness. Sorting turned out to be a fairly easy task, as the dump didn't serve a large number of the town, and many people had taken to already separating their glass from the rest of the trash.   
  
Although it wasn't hard to push the trash around with a large rake, which was the easiest way to do the job: Open the bags, spread the trash along the ground, and then walk through it; it was quite hard to keep his position. He had to hunch over to better see the contents of the carpet of trash below him, and after so long his back muscles had begun to protest.  
  
At lunchtime Harry spent half the hour scrubbing his hands, unable to rid himself of the grimy feeling. Pete had reminded him that he had been wearing gloves, but this didn't matter to Harry, as gloves or no gloves, he had never felt so dirty in his life. He gobbled down Aunt Petunia's hastily made sandwich and then had turned to the apple, eating it all the way down to the core. It wasn't a filling lunch, and he returned to the pile with a rumbling stomach.  
  
It took Harry all day to search through the trash. And the only mark of his progression was the steadily growing pile of trash bags in the corner, where Harry had tossed them after he emptied them of their contents. At half past four, Pete came by with a large crane, and Harry finally realized that he hadn't spread the garbage out on the ground, but on a dusty colored tarp, which had hooks at the four ends. With the help of Nate, Ed, and Larry, who had returned with their half-full garbage trucks, the four ends were hooked to the crane and the gigantic tarp was carried away to a large compactor. From there, the blocks of trash were added to the piles Harry had witnessed when he first entered the yard.  
  
"Ya really did good, Harry," Pete said, clapping Harry on his shoulders as they watched Nate, Ed, and Larry empty their trucks onto the replaced tarp. "That there new pile ya'll do tomorrow." Pete instructed.  
  
Harry stared at the grow pile and smiled slightly. That's what you think, he thought as he made his way back to the little shack to wait for Uncle Vernon.  
  
**

* * * * *

**  
  
"That uncle of yours ever gonna come get ya?" Pete asked when he walked into the shack at half past six. Harry was sitting in the doorway, looking out over the darkening street, his uniform in a plastic bag on his lap.   
  
"He should have been here an hour ago," Harry muttered, slightly embarrassed. He had a feeling that Uncle Vernon had never intended to pick Harry up in the first place. Why would he want Harry, dirty and sweaty after doing manual labor in a dump, sitting in his Mercedes? He probably expected Harry to walk the six miles home.   
  
Harry heaved himself off the ground, his muscles beginning to ache horribly. His shoulders were hunched over, a stabbing pain in his back announcing itself every few seconds.  
  
"I guess I'll just walk home," Harry replied, "See you tomorrow, Pete."  
  
But before Harry could make it through the doorway, Pete had grabbed his shoulder, causing Harry to yelp in pain.  
  
"Ya sayin' ya goin' ta walk all the way home in the dark?" Pete asked, pity on his face.  
  
"It isn't that far, and it isn't that dark yet," Harry protested, looking away.   
  
"I'll give ya a ride. I'm a leavin' now anyway," Pete answered, grabbing a large ring of keys off his desk.  
  
"No, really, it's all right," Harry said, turning around. His aunt and uncle would not be happy if they found out he had been given a ride because his new boss felt sorry for him.  
  
"Nah, I insist. Ya a good worker. Don't want nothin' ta happen ta ya."  
  
Harry tried to protest but Pete wouldn't hear of it, and instead just steered him out the door, taking a second to lock it behind them, and then pushed Harry toward the beat up car parked on the side of the road.  
  
"Now, what street is it again?" Pete asked as he started up the car, which groaned in protest.  
  
"Number Four Privet Drive," Harry instructed, tensing up as the car pulled out onto the street, shaking horribly.  
  
"I remember that drive, used to run that route when I was a youngin'," Pete said, jerking the wheel as he changed lanes.   
  
Harry tightened his grip on his seatbelt, suddenly reminded of the Knight Bus. Pete drove no better than the Knight Bus driver, Ernie. Harry thought that the Knight Bus safer though, as anything in its path would jump out of the way to avoid an accident. That wasn't the same with Pete's car, and Harry was half convinced that sooner or later they'd skip the curb and take a building head on. It was to his amazement that they pulled up to the pristine house on the lot of Number Four.  
  
"There ya go, Harry," Pete said as he put the car into park. He turned to smile as Harry undid his seatbelt.  
  
"Thanks for the ride, Pete. I really appreciate it," Harry said, his voice slightly wavery.   
  
"Ya, no problem. See ya tomorrow," Pete responded in a cheery tone, smiling at him.  
  
"Yeah, tomorrow," Harry replied, opening the door and stepping out. Just as he shut it, Pete shifted gears and the car roared away.   
  
Privet Drive was empty, Pete's speeding car the only one on the street. Harry stood there for several minutes, watching the sun move toward the horizon. Then, when his hunger pains grew to be too much, Harry walked over to the dust bin on the side of the house and tossed in his uniform, making sure the bag around it was tightly closed.  
  
Harry would have gone straight into the house and chastised his aunt and uncle for leaving him at the dump, but he found that the door was locked. He stepped off the front porch to peer through the front window. Through the lacy drapes, he could just make out the light blazing in the kitchen. Pursing his lips, Harry rang the bell, and then stood there for someone to come open it. He could hear the high squeal of Aunt Petunia's laughter, and the shuffle of footsteps, and then the twist of the deadbolt.   
  
"Oh, it's you," she said in a disgusted tone as she flipped the porch light on and opened the door. "You're late for dinner." She promptly turned and stomped back to the kitchen.  
  
Uncle Vernon was sitting at his usual place at the dinner table, his head turned so he could glare at Harry when he walked in.   
  
"Don't you dare come in here like that," Uncle Vernon snapped as Harry, an unamused frown on his face, trooped through the doorway, his eyes immediately going to the table to see what was for dinner. Harry didn't stop to argue with his uncle.   
  
"Boy, did you not hear me!" Uncle Vernon screamed as Harry pulled out a chair.  
  
"Yeah, I heard you but I figured I wouldn't say anything until I ate: I'm starving," Harry answered.  
  
"The dump took it out of you, eh?" Dudley asked, a large smile spreading across his face. "Always knew you were a weak little prat."  
  
Aunt Petunia said nothing, she just sat with her nose wrinkled, her hands in her lap, twisting her napkin as if she were in pain. It seemed that Harry's, who had brought a distinct smell with him, presence in her immaculate kitchen was too much for her. "Vernon," she finally said in a pleading squeak.  
  
"You won't be eating, boy, until you go clean up. And after you shower, scrub the bathroom. You have no idea what kind of germs live in such a place," Uncle Vernon said in a low, smooth voice.  
  
Harry stared at his uncle for a moment, taking in the rising color in his face, the set jaw, and still present twitch of the eye. "Fine, then I won't eat any of your dinner," Harry snapped, standing up and stomping from the kitchen.  
  
For the second time that day Harry barged into his bedroom in a fury. His trunk was still lying open on the floor, and Hedwig was now perched in her cage facing him, her eyes round and bright, as night had finally set in.  
  
Harry breathed through his teeth, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. And then, mumbling under his breath and shaking his head from side to side, he closed the door behind him. Immediately his eyes fell on a rolled parchment on his unmade bed. It was the letter that had arrived at breakfast, and in his rush to get ready to leave for "work," Harry had been unable to read it. Now, though, considering that the rest of his night's plans entailed showering and scrubbing the bathroom, he had plenty of time to see what Adrienne had written.  
  
Harry slipped the red string off the parchment and unrolled it. Adrienne's untidy block letter scrawl quickly materialized, and Harry could make out several familiar names, including Professor McGonagall's. He unfolded the letter and began to read.  
  
_Dear Harry,  
  
Hope that your summer hasn't gotten off to a completely horrible start. You guys left for Hogsmeade Station about three hours ago. Filch ended up tripping over Mrs. Norris while going down the staircase that leads to the Astronomy Tower. He's in the hospital ward having his broken legs healed. So, instead of spending some time doing work for Filch, I'm here in McGonagall's office she keeps staring at me with this weird expression. I think she's fighting the mad desire to turn me into a newt make the score even. But, that's not why I wrote. The International Dueling Championships are in Guatemala this year, second to last week of July. I think I forgot to tell you. If you, Hermione, and Ron want I can get you tickets. Well, not me personally, but Professor Hartel can. Keep that in mind for when you guys decide to visit. But I have to go, McGonagall just announced that we're going to practice transfiguration. Oh joy.  
  
Love,   
Adrienne_  
  
Harry looked up from the letter, his gaze falling on Hedwig, who had puffed herself up, and was standing on one leg, her other leg sticking out as if expecting Harry to tie a reply on. Harry smirked slightly.   
  
"Oh, so we're finally chumming back up to me, eh?" he asked as he stood up.   
  
Hedwig ruffled her feathers but continued to hold her pose, tilting her head to the side as if to question him on whether he'd be needing her tonight or not.   
  
"Just a minute," he instructed as he bent down and pulled out a quill and parchment from his trunk. He strode over to his desk and hunched over, scribbling a quick note out. It wasn't to Adrienne though, but instead to Hermione.  
  
_Dear Hermione,  
  
I know you'll be getting this letter late tonight, but I really need a favor. Can you call a cab company for me? I need one tomorrow at six in the morning. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Please. Tell them not to come to the door, that I'll meet them. Thanks, I'll explain later._  
  
Harry signed his name and then folded the parchment. Seeing this, Hedwig flew out of her cage and landed at his side.   
  
"You need to get this to Hermione tonight," Harry instructed as he tied it to her leg. "And make sure she reads it. All right?"   
  
Hedwig, the letter now tied tightly to her leg, nipped his ear in reassurance before flying toward the window. She hovered as Harry threw it open, and then, with a trace of apprehension, he watched her fly away into the night.   
  
"Fickle little bugger," he muttered after he could no longer see her silhouetted against the dark sky, "This morning she wouldn't even look at me."   
  
Harry stifled laughter and walked back to his trunk, beginning to toss in all his belongings. He again didn't bother to pack correctly, rationalizing that if everything was already wrinkled, a few extra wrinkles wouldn't make a difference. After surveying his room and determining that he hadn't forgotten anything, he closed his trunk and locked it, and then made his way to the bathroom, intent on taking a nice long relaxing shower.  
  
**

* * * * *

**  
  
Below Hedwig, the lighted houses and streets flew by at an increasingly fast pace. Hedwig took her job very seriously, and although Harry did have the unfortunate habit of sometimes forgetting to open his window for her, she found him to be quite an attentive owner. Hedwig felt a little sorry for him. She had heard the yelling in both the morning and evening, and had heard Harry clumping up the stairs, as she had come to identify the four different clumps heard in the house. Uncle Vernon had a shuffley clump that sounded as if his ascent or descent on the stairwell was posing a horrible effort. Aunt Petunia's clump had a sharp click to it, even when she was wearing socks or slippers. Dudley's clump no longer shook the house, but it did rattle the desk slightly. Hedwig knew Harry's the best though. His clump was quick and clear, as if he was intent on making the entire house know of his progression on the stairwell.   
  
Hedwig steered to her left, her yellow eyes piercing through the night, acknowledging the various other owls who were soaring by, noticing which ones had letters tied to their legs and which didn't. She gave a quick hoot to a barn owl she knew from the Owlery at Hogwarts, and then picked up her pace. Harry had been in a different mood than usual when he had come up after breakfast, and even though Hedwig had still been angry with him, she had found herself turning around in her cage to pay attention to what he had been saying as he rummaged through his trunk.   
  
She couldn't understand everything he said. Owls didn't understand the English language fluently, but they managed, especially Hedwig, who had a large vocabulary of names in which Harry often mentioned, and could tell by his tone of voice exactly what the gist of his discussion was, even if she could only make out a few words. Just minutes ago he had said "Hermione." Hedwig liked Hermione very much, which was another reason why she was flying so quickly. Every time, without fail, when she delivered to Hermione, the girl always had some type of treat for her. She liked Hermione's treats far better than the store bought treats Harry gave her. Hermione had said the word "cookie" last summer when Hedwig had brought her a package. Hedwig was slightly unsure what "cookie" meant but she was willing to guess it meant "better food than Harry's" as that was how it tasted.   
  
As Hedwig continued her flight, her mind drifted to what Harry had been on about that morning. His voice had been slightly desperate and slightly rebellious at the same time. He had pulled out money Muggle money to be exact. Hedwig wondered what the money was for. She thought that during his discussion with himself he had mentioned something about leaving, but she wasn't sure.   
  
Hedwig was still perusing Harry's actions when she arrived before a beautiful brick house. Hermione had neglected to mention to Harry and Ron that her parents weren't just dentists, but two of the most successful dentists in London. The Granger house was three times the size of the Dursley's, and it's windowsills were much larger, much to Hedwig's delight. She flew around the house and landed on the sill of a large bay window. Grasping the sill tightly with her claws, Hedwig tapped the glass, and then waited patiently as, with a quiet squeal of delight, Hermione Granger raced toward the window.  
  
"Hedwig?" she asked in excitement as Hedwig flew into her room, landing on the back of Hermione's desk chair. Hermione closed the window against the breezy night, pulling her robe tighter around herself, and then walked over to her desk to untie the parchment from Hedwig's leg.   
  
"I was just going to bed," she said, unembarrassed of making conversation with an owl. "You came just in time. I'm so tired, Hedwig, I'm sure I'd never have heard you at the window had you come a few minutes later."   
  
Hedwig cocked her head to the side, imitating the humans she'd seen listening during conversations. Hermione giggled at Hedwig and then stroked the top of the owl's head.   
  
"You are so funny sometimes," Hermione answered, unrolling the parchment.   
  
She walked back to her bed and collapsed onto it, waking Crookshanks with a start. He had been sleeping atop her pillow, and now was stretching angrily, clearly affronted that Hermione would dare awake him in such a fashion. His eyes fell upon Hedwig, who was still perched on the desk chair. Crookshanks dropped into a crouch and began sneaking forward across the bed.  
  
"You try and eat Hedwig, and I'll turn you into a mouse," Hermione said, glancing at Crookshanks. He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her. She held his gaze, and then, with a depressing meow, Crookshanks turned around and resignedly took his place once again atop Hermione's pillow.  
  
"What is he planning on doing?" Hermione asked, finishing the letter and sitting up, running a hand through her hair, as she usually did when trying to understand something.   
  
Hedwig hooted in reply.   
  
"Why can't he just call himself?" she mused aloud as she stood up and walked toward her desk.   
  
Hedwig hooted again, this time with an impatient tone. Hermione picked up on what Hedwig was trying to say right away.  
  
"Oh, so the summer's off to a bad start already?" she said in a sullen voice as she bent down and pulled out the bottom drawer of her desk. She rummaged through the pile and withdrew a telephone directory from the bottom. "I'll make the call for him," she said as she scribbled a hasty note onto the back of Harry's parchment, and then tied it to Hedwig's leg. She had just finished tying the string when Hedwig hooted again.   
  
"Oh, I supposed you're thirsty or hungry, what after such a long and dangerous flight?" Hermione said sarcastically, smiling at the bird. "Come on." She picked up the telephone book and motioned for Hedwig to follow her. Crookshanks watched through heavy eyes as the two left the room, and then, deciding that he'd better make sure that Hermione didn't give the bird anything that belonged to him, Crookshanks heaved himself up and trotted along after.  
  
**

* * * * *

**  
  
The next morning, Harry's alarm woke him with a start. He sat up straight in bed and stared into his dimly lit room. Hedwig was resting in her cage; he had left the window open and didn't remember her coming home. Hedwig, upon realizing that Harry was up, flew toward him.  
  
"Good, you got to her," Harry murmured sleepily as he unrolled the parchment. He read Hermione's note through squinted eyes, and then raised his hands to his face to try and rub away his sleepiness. Then, crumpling the note in one fist, he retrieved his glasses from his bedside table, and rolled out of bed.   
  
"We have to be quiet," he whispered to Hedwig, who ruffled her feathers excitedly, and then flew back to her cage and made herself comfortable, indicating to Harry that whatever sort of adventure he was going to embark on, she was ready to go too. Harry, as silently as he could, pulled on a pair of jeans and a baggy gray T-shirt, the smallest he could find in his closet. He stuffed his pajamas in his school bag and slipped on his shoes.   
  
Hedwig watched as he tiptoed around the room, checking under his bed, in his desk drawers, and in the closet. With a steady hand he retrieved his first year Potions text from under the short desk leg, and lowered the leg to the ground, lifting Hedwig's cage so it wouldn't slide off the now sloping desktop. He latched Hedwig's cage and placed it atop his trunk. Then, thanking the stars that he had remembered to grab his Potions text, slipped it into his schoolbag with his pajamas.  
  
"You can't make a sound, Hedwig," Harry whispered to her.   
  
Hedwig resolutely clamped her beak shut and puffed out her chest to show she was up to the challenge. Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and then tied the handle of Hedwig's cage to the shoulder strap, so that it hung at his side.   
  
Harry opened his bedroom door and slowly stuck his head into the hallway, checking to see if anyone was up yet. No one was, as it was only five in the morning and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia liked to sleep in until the last possible moment. Satisfied that no one was going to be storming into the hallway anytime soon, Harry heaved his trunk into the air, having to lean backwards to keep a good hold on it. Muttering softly about needing to build more muscles, he shuffled down the hallway, pausing every now and then to make sure that he wasn't waking anyone.   
  
Hedwig clamped her eyes shut as Harry begun making his way down the staircase. Overlooking Harry misplacing his foot on the second to bottom step and almost dropping his trunk on his feet as he stumbled forward, Harry made it downstairs without incident. Though, he had to stop and set his trunk down in the entry hall, in order to shake his hands, as they had begun to throb from holding the trunk with such a tight grip.   
  
Several minutes later, having battled with the front lock, and danced around the milk bottles set in the middle of the front step, Harry had placed his trunk at the curb. He had decided the spot the night before, realizing that this part of the front garden couldn't be seen by his aunt and uncle's bedroom window.   
  
"Hedwig, you can't make a sound. I'll be back, trust me," Harry said to her as he untied her cage and set it behind the trunk, leaving his schoolbag next to it.   
  
Harry nodded at his owl and then made his way back to the house. He paused at the front step and turned to look around the front garden. He had the funny feeling that he was being watched. His eyes roved the flower beds Aunt Petunia paid so much to keep green and beautiful. He glanced up and down Privet Drive, but to no avail no one was there. Convincing himself that he was just nervous about being caught before he could escape, Harry bent down and picked up the milk bottles, and then walked back into the house, not closing the door behind him. Through the open door, he could keep an eye on his possessions sitting by the curb, and he could also hear if any car approached.  
  
Unfortunately for Harry, as he tiptoed back into the kitchen to pop the top of a milk bottle and withdraw a glass from the china cabinet, still trying to shake the feeling that he was being watched, across the street two men sat hunched together on number 5's drive. An invisibility cloak was pulled tightly around them.  
  
"We could just take him now," the man on the right whispered to the other, fingering his wand hungrily. "A little Avada Kedavra and he'd be an extra large paper weight good and stiff and dead."  
  
"Shh," the other whispered, turning his head as much as he could under the cloak to glare at him. "You know perfectly well that Dumbledore has all types of spells over the boy. Merlin, he's just radiating with protection charms and spells. Rumor has it that Dumbledore even slips stuff into his drinks at Hogwarts somehow, to give him some added protection. You can't just Avada Kedavra him here. No doubt it would backfire and take out us and the entire street."  
  
"Oh, I forgot. Dumbledore always messes with everything," the other whispered back.  
  
"Has enough damned anti-curse spells on him to protect an entire army, damned Harry Potter does," whispered the one on the left. "Let's run through the plan one more time."  
  
"Right."  
  
"We wait until Potter leaves - "  
  
"How exactly did you figure out that Potter would be leaving?"   
  
"Listen very closely, Avery, you git. Lucius has it all taken care of. He provides us with the information, we finish the job."  
  
Avery nodded. "Ok, so we wait until Potter leaves."  
  
"Then, we move in on the house," finished the other man.  
  
"And we wait again," Avery finished.  
  
Smiles overcame the two men's faces, and low chuckles emitted from their throats.   
  
"Coupled with Skeeter's reports from his fourth year, this won't help Potter's public image," Avery laughed.   
  
**

* * * * *

**  
  
At ten to six, Harry scribbled a hasty note to his aunt and uncle, informing them that he was off for the holidays and they shouldn't expect him to return. Then, placing the note on the center of the table where they'd be sure to find it, Harry tiptoed out of the house, shutting the door silently behind him. He walked through the front garden, his money jingling in the money pouch in his pocket. Harry was sure he didn't have enough money to make it to Ron's house, but he knew he could make it to London and that was where Hermione lived. He felt a sudden pain of guilt for having not told her in the letter that he might show up at her doorstep the following morning, but he hadn't yet decided on where he was headed when he had written to her.  
  
As the minutes ticked by, Harry, sitting at the curb next to his trunk, kept shifting uncomfortably. Something was terribly off, and not just because he kept feeling as though someone was watching him. A dull, but painful ache had appeared in his stomach, and was slowly spreading throughout his abdomen. He leaned sideways onto his trunk and wrapped his arms around his stomach, as his eyes began to water in pain. He glanced at his watch, his head beginning to pound, vertigo kicking in, the world beginning to lose focus.  
  
"What's going on?" Harry whispered to himself as he noticed a black car turning onto Privet Drive.   
  
He reached back, with great effort, as bending in such a way accentuated the pains in his stomach, and pulled Hedwig's cage atop the trunk. As the cab rolled to a stop before him, Harry heaved himself off the ground, throwing his arms out to the side as he suddenly lost all sense of direction and was struggling to stay standing.  
  
"You all right?" the cabbie asked, jumping out to help him with the trunk. He was a short man, with graying hair beneath his cap. He was slightly hump backed, and when he smiled at Harry in concern, it didn't extend to his eyes.  
  
Taking a deep breath Harry replied, "Yeah, just dizzy." The cabbie didn't look like he believed him, but nevertheless, put Harry's trunk into the car.   
  
"You have an owl?" he asked in amusement as he placed Hedwig's cage onto one of the seats, and then motioned for Harry, who was swaying slightly and gripping his schoolbag to his stomach in pain, to get into the car.  
  
"Yeah, my parents are into weird presents," he mumbled, seriously thinking that if he didn't sit down right now, he'd pass out. Harry collapsed into the seat, and groaned slightly, feeling dumb. Why hadn't he thought of sending Hedwig on ahead why had he kept her in her cage with intentions of brining her into the cab? He shut his eyes, half in pain and half in annoyment at his own actions.  
  
"Where to?" the cabbie asked as he pulled away from the curb.  
  
"75 Roper Lane, London," Harry breathed, opening his eyes.  
  
"If you're sick in my car, I'll charge you double," the man said, realizing that Harry was beginning to turn green.  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry answered.  
  
**

* * * * *  


**  
The two men under the invisibility cloak watched as the cab drove away.  
  
"You sure Dumbledore has wards up around the neighborhood? We could have grabbed him and just took him away and killed him then," Avery whispered in annoyance as he and his partner stood up.  
  
"Yeah, you try and touch him here. Our Master's been doing research on what he thinks are some of the spells on the boy. I heard him tell Lucius that if a Dark Wizard touched him while he was within the wards, the wizard would explode. Don't fancy my guts fertilizing the lawns, do you?"  
  
Avery made a face. "Well, not exactly."  
  
"Potter didn't look too well, did he?" the other asked with a victorious smirk.  
  
"I thought you said all those spells and charms and wards would protect him. Looks to me like the Nightshade is getting to him," Avery replied as the two men began to slowly cross the street, taking care not to expose themselves, as they were a tight fit under the cloak.  
  
"You idiot. Nightshade kills much faster than that. The boy isn't dead is he? Nope, but he'll have one heck of a stomach flu. Master reckons he's protected against all types of poisons."  
  
"Yeah, he ain't the boy who lived. He's the boy who won't die just keeps coming back for more. Think he has some sort of strange and sick liking to being tortured?" Avery muttered as they finally reached the garden of number four.  
  
Avery's partner ignored his last comment. "But those spells, Avery, are specific to him." The other man glanced at the quiet house before them, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "Not to anyone else."  
  


**_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _**  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

  
  
**Camille's Note:** Special thanks to my wonderful beta reader, Christine (even though sometimes our computers don't like to cooperate), and to Aureus Draconis for all the advice and all the reads of this chapter.  
  
Also, I've received many e-mails commenting on my less than timely manner of posting this chapter. I apologize. My parents have decided that I can only spend so much time on the computer in my room (where I write) and have restricted me to their computer... which is in the center of everything and is so not conducive to creativity. The good thing is that I'm ordering my laptop sometime this week... so at least when it comes I'll be able to escape the house and write at the library or some other quiet place.  
  
Recent events have caused some changes in my life, and more than ever I'm grateful for all my readers. Your enthusiasm for my story and your kind reviews are worth so much to me! I've never incorporated a thanks section before, but I've realized that I need to express my gratitude to all of you. So this will be a regular installment from hence forth.   
  
My thanks too all included but not limited to the following list of reviewers from the AE Prologue:  
  
**~*-Curry Spice-*~** (thanks for the well-wishes, I'll try my best, hopefully it'll outdo the GS though),   
**Agent99** (a box of kudos, eh? well, then I'll share),  
**Airemay** (ever thought that maybe Fudge isn't as stupid as he looks? or, then again, he could very well be),   
**Alex_Rosas** (Alas, you are right, it is summer yet why do I find myself as busy as I was during the school year? I'll keep writing though see how far I can get before school starts up again),   
**Alistio** (Hope this quelled your thirst),  
**Alexis** ("You must continue this story, you must." Now if only you'd added "Imperio" in there, I'd be twice as compelled to do so, but don't worry, "Imperio" isn't needed),  
**Am** (I'll try to be more timely on the next chapter),  
**Amadeus** (may my fingers be swift and my writing unblocked? Dear me, I hope so!),   
**Amanda Mancini** (love the us of "NoOOOOooOoooOOooOOooooooo......" really, I might have to borrow that sometime),   
**Anon** (I think being compared to Rowling is the greatest compliment a HP fanfic writer can receive. Thank you),   
**Athena Lionfire** (Fudge, a gimp? Well that has to be the most original thing I've heard him called. He isn't my favorite either him wearing a pin strip suit and a lime green bowler threw me off from the beginning),   
**Aureus Draconis** (Thanks for helping a poor naïve American. And thanks for taking all the looks at the chapter before I posted. I think you've read this chapter several times now, eh?)  
**Black Beyond** (Good, another one to add to my anti-Lucius club! And I'm not done with Fudge yet either... gosh... ugh they make me sick!),   
**Calendai** (thanks so much for catching the predecessor/successor flop I really appreciate it, only so many times I can read my own chapter, and I still can't catch every mistake),  
**Charlie** (Thank you for everything. Love you!),  
**Chris** (it is my hope that this will be better than the GS, if anything it will be shorter),   
**Chrissy** (and you think I'm going to tell you who the other guy was? Nope, not just yet patience, my friend),   
**Christine** (I appreciate everything, I really do. It's great to know that you'll be there, if I ever need to talk even if it's about stupid AP exam scores, you're a great listener and a great friend, not to mention editor),   
**Colorful** (sorry that I didn't abide your request to post soon, but I'll keep trying),   
**Crystal Music** (I need all the luck that I can get! Glad that you could spot my enthusiasm in my writing it really is quite fun!),   
**Princess of the Faye** (Thanks for the encouragement, and I'm glad you enjoyed the GS),   
**Dark Sovereign: Dracona** (I quite haven't decided if Hermione will bring that Potions recipe but I can say that unless some major change of neuron transmission occurs in the creative spot in my brain, Lucius Malfoy will stay alive for a while),   
**Debra** (don't worry, keep writing I will),  
**Demon_Child** (I'm glad you're looking forward to reading this sequel and don't worry, I'll be posting more and more and more and more... until more leads to finished and finished leads to a second sequel, and then again the process will continue),  
**E.J. Malfoy** (you know what? I don't think anyone has called me "cool" in a long time how fun!),   
**Fallen*Angel** (Ooohh I too hope this is better than the first, it would be quite a disappointment for my writing style to decline instead of improve),  
**Freda Potter** (no, I haven't transformed Sirius into a 15 year old, though I love the idea but you will see more of him, Remus too, promise),   
**Giesbrecht** (I freaked someone out? Wow the power of the pen, eh?),  
**Greak Milenko** (another cool one right back at you!),  
**Hermione** (my thoughts exactly! The moron is a yellowed-belly son of a glad we're on the same wave-length),   
**Hermione A. Snape** (thanks for the support on the prologue, starting is always the hardest part of writing or at least I think so),  
**Hermione Zeal** (thanks!),  
**Jen** (thanks for the reviews in your e-mail! And thanks for all the cultural lessons. I love reading your e-mails because not only are they fun but I learn something every time! Enjoy your week and I'll talk to you soon I'm sure),   
**Jenna!!!!** (where are you?),  
**Jonathan** (I'm writing as much as my schedule will let me so hopefully you won't have to wait too long for chapter two),  
**Jona** (always waiting, eh? Well, I hope that I can overcome my long wait between posts problems sometime soon. But I can't make any promises. I just hope that all my chapters are worth the wait),   
**Jume** (with a name like Fudge, he has to be fudging something up, too good of a play on words not to use ),   
**Kyra Andros** (another person calling me cool! Peachy!),   
**Lady of the Lillies** (what a compliment, thanks!),  
**Lauren** (Guess my advice on the bathing suit didn't help. Well, now we know that I'm not a sneaky person . Don't worry, you can always come stay with me... go guy hunting down at the university. Smile sis! ),  
**Leah Sampson** (you think that Dumbledore was the other person in the room? Hmm I ain't telling),   
**Lelahel** (you'll probably be learning much more about Fudge than you'd like),   
**MarsIsBrightTonight** (I think I give you the award for most intriguing penname!),  
**Mary Potter** (another fortune teller in our midst? Perhaps you are of course there will be more Adrienne eventually with slightly less hair but how do you know the Ministry is corrupt, couldn't they come through in the end? or maybe not, there is always the possibility that they'll send Harry to Azkaban),   
**METMA Mandy** (hey girl! Hope you're enjoying Alaska this one's edited a little better, isn't it? ::grins proudly::),   
**Mimi** (Don't worry, more will be revealed with subsequent chapters),  
**Natalya** (thanks for the vegetarian help!),  
**Neo** (more is coming more is coming),  
**Nightowl** (bad probably won't begin to describe it),  
**Northern Star** ("creepy, forboding, and all those other things English teachers like saying" kind of what I was going for when I wrote it),   
**Person** (Coo? I'll take that as a compliment.. thanks!)  
**Prgirl433** (sounds like a deal, I'll keep writing and you keep reviewing),  
**Qwillow** (thank you so much for the coup d'etat fix. Don't know what I was thinking),  
**Ravenclaw Filly** (well, this new plot will be going in an interesting direction hope you like it),  
**Rachel** (I'll keep going don't worry)  
**Robbie** (the train of thought yes but not mine, you know me I'm a lunatic),  
**Sami** (yes, disliking Mr. Fudge is putting it lightly too bad he has to stick around),  
**Savannah Shaw** (Northanger Abbey you started it yet? And good luck on David Copperfield maybe I'll get that one read some day too),   
**Shadow** (how come every time Harry gets into a spot of trouble all the readers start smiling? I know we all love him, but there must be something about him walking into danger that just really gets us),   
**Shana/Sashina** (ooh ooh ooh you're visiting the UK!?! Word of advice, keep in mind that if you buy any unframed paintings there, it's in metric, which means when you get back to the states you'll have to fork over mucho dinero for a custom built frame),   
**Shelly** (thanks for the support, hope that good describes it as I continue),  
**Shftan** (I appreciate your writing me and your thoughts. They really do mean a lot!),  
**Silvestria** (I new all those persuasive essays in school would help me one day!),  
**Sofie** (thanks so much for the help, I really appreciate it vegetarianism, here I come hopefully),   
**Tina** (I don't know how I do it either, literally, but I'll keep at it),   
***Too Many Cheering Charms*** (Don't give up on your story. When I started the GS back in September, I didn't have many reviews either. Just keep writing!),  
**Viktor Krum** (hmm do I sense a fortune teller in our midst? How right you are!),  
**Winky** (a dictionary, seriously? I didn't think I had such an involved vocabulary... maybe all those AP English classes did pay off after all),  
**Zapper** (thanks for all the comments, I'm glad you stuck through the GS to see that I really could break the mold).  



	3. Unexpected Arrivals and Departures

The front door of the Granger house creaked open and Hermione slumped into the house, barely managing to shut the door before she slid to the floor in exhaustion

**Among Enemies**

by Camille

________________________________________________________  
________________________________________________________

  
  
**_Disclaimer: _**_This story is based after the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. Adrienne, Mia, Joe, and everyone else whom does not appear in the canon were created by me. All other characters, places, situations, and events are owned by JKR, Warner Bros, and whoever else is lucky enough to have the rights. _****

**-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ -  
  
Chapter Two: Unexpected Arrivals and Departures  
-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ -**

****

The front door of the Granger house creaked open and Hermione slumped into the house, barely managing to shut the door before she slid to the floor in exhaustion. Breathing deeply, she ran her hands up to rub her face, wiping away the sweat that had caused her hair, having fallen from its pony tail, to stick to her forehead and the sides of her face. She leaned back into the door, pressing her shoulders into the wood, trying to stretch her aching rib cage. 

"Darling, what in heaven's name are you doing?"

Hermione looked up, her mouth opened as she took in raged breaths. Her mother was standing ahead of her, her hands upon her slim hips in a questioning manner. Her mother continued down the stairs until she was finally on the ground floor and smiled at her.

"I went running," Hermione muttered, her tone betraying what her mind was trying to convince her of. 

Harry had never made a rude comment about her weight. Neither had Ron, nor had Adrienne, whom Hermione personally thought was much too thin for her own good, but every time Hermione stared into the mirror, she got a sinking feeling in her gut. No matter what Lavender and Parvati had said about her svelte figure, Hermione kept mulling over the idea of losing weight. And naturally, as the summer always posed more free time than the school year, Hermione had made it her goal to begin running at least four times a week. She developed a mantra, and repeated it to herself as she ran, thinking over and over again, "Running is good. Running is healthy. I like running." And now, as she sat leaning against her front door, her entire body exhausted and crying out that it hated _running,_ no matter what she tried to tell herself, her hatred of the sport came through loud and clear.

Her mother laughed slightly, a smile breaking across her porcelain like face. "Darling, you have a wonderful shape. I hope that you taking up running isn't because you feel you need to change how you look." Hermione's mother had a soft voice, one laced with caring and sweetness that twisted through the air and engulfed the listener. Hermione loved her mother's voice.

Hermione leaned forward, pleased to notice that her heartbeat had decreased substantially, and that her breathing was almost back to normal. "No," Hermione lied, "You're supposed to exercise regularly… I thought perhaps I'd try to do that."

"Is that so?" Her mother had closed the distance between them with quiet footsteps. She knelt down before Hermione, suddenly feeling that this was one of those mother-daughter moments that she just couldn't mess up. "You have never mastered the art of lying, Hermione." 

Hermione searched her mother's face, and grinned slightly at the innocent expression staring back at her. Her mother wasn't angry. Hermione's mother rarely got angry, well, angry with her at least.

"I remember when you were five, darling, and you so wanted those cookies before dinner. Do you remember." 

Mrs. Granger had stood up, pulling Hermione up with her and placing an arm around her daughter's sweaty shoulders.

"Vaguely," Hermione replied, suddenly aware of how horribly sticky she felt. "Ugh, I'm going to take a shower." 

"After you get something to drink," her mother ordered, in the same tone of voice she'd use with one of her patients. "You were determined to get those cookies, no matter what I said. So when I went to answer the door — I was expecting a package — you snuck into the kitchen and pulled the cookie jar off the table."

"And it shattered all over the floor!" Hermione moaned, suddenly remembering the story. "It was that beautiful cookie jar too… the one from Italy."

"You remember when we bought that? I don't believe it. We went to Italy when you were only two," her mother exclaimed, stopping in her tracks, Hermione too.

"No, I just remember it was from Italy because that's what you said when you wailed about it being broken," Hermione answered, looking up at her mother with an impish grin, and then continuing into the kitchen.

Hermione had always wondered why they had such a large kitchen. There were only three people in her family, and yet the kitchen was large enough to cook for the entire Weasley family, and allow them all to help cook at once. The floor was tiled in a terra-cotta tile, the orange color accented by the light brown cabinets, which had glass covered doors, the frame of each glass pane outlined in alternating blue and green stained glass. The appliances were all a reflective stainless steel, and paintings that Hermione had done while in primary school still adorned the refrigerator. The kitchen never showed its full ability except when her parents hosted dinner parties, and then the family's cooks were called in, the large stove lit, the counters lined with dishes, and the large windows lining one side of the kitchen were decorated with brand new linen drapes. 

"And I ran into the kitchen, wondering what on earth had happened, and there you stood, crying your eyes out, with the shattered remnants of my beautiful cookie jar lying all around you. And for years afterwards you claimed you didn't break it. You held onto that lie like there was no tomorrow." Hermione's mother smiled again as she directed her daughter into a chair at the oak table. "You never were good at lying."

Hermione watched as her mother danced through the kitchen, pulling down glasses, and opening the refrigerator. As a child, Hermione had thought herself to be a princess. A princess in disguise that is. She lived in a large house, unlike those that usually adorned London's streets. It was spread out, only three stories, but a mansion none the less. They had maids who came three times a week to clean, wonderfully polite and fun maids who had taught Hermione how to make her bed, how to sort clothes, and how to dust. They were well paid too, unlike House Elves. 

Hermione would accompany her parents to dinners, wearing frilly lace dresses, and behaving like a good little girl should. She was quiet, reserved, always smiled. She knew how to amuse herself at even the dullest parties and never spoke unless she was spoken to. At her primary school, students would whisper about her, whisper about how much money she had, about how she was rich enough to be royalty. It had been a horrible disappointment when Hermione finally realized at the age of eight that she was just a regular girl, except she was rich. 

Although Hermione had long understood that she wasn't a princess, that indeed she was just a regular girl – though, she was a witch, so perhaps not so regular – she could never shake the feeling that her mother was royalty, or at least could pass for royalty. Her mother was perhaps the most intriguing person Hermione knew. Sure, she had great respect for Professor McGonagall, and especially Professor Dumbledore, but no matter whom she met, she always found herself comparing them to her mother. Her mother carried herself in such an assertive and yet subdued way. She wore her hair tied behind her head in the latest fashions. Her clothing was all designer made, and when she put on her white lab coat, and pulled on her thinly framed reading glasses, she looked more prestigious than anyone Hermione had ever seen.

"Darling, I know what you're thinking. It's natural to question yourself, to question how you look. Today's world is so visual, but you cannot let that rule your life." Mrs. Granger had returned to the table, carrying two glasses of ice water. "Look at you, you are as thin as anyone would want. You know how many times Dr. Kingman has told me he thought you would do well to gain a little more weight."

Hermione lifted her glass and took a large gulp, feeling the cold liquid running down her throat, cooling her chest and her neck. She quickly downed the glass as her mother continued talking.

"I'm thrilled, Hermione, that you've taken an interest in exercise… but really, don't worry yourself so."

This was a conversation typical of Hermione and her mother. Her mother reads too much into Hermione's actions, and then Hermione listens quietly to her mother's soft lectures. Most likely the conversation would have continued until her parents had left for work, but that morning, Hermione's all too predictable home life was in for a dramatic turn.

"Darling, where's my blue tie!" Hermione's father had entered the kitchen, wearing a frustrated expression. "I can't find my tie."

"Did you check your closet?" Hermione's mother asked, turning around to look at her husband with a soft but unmistakably annoyed look. 

"If my tie was in my closet, then I wouldn't be asking you where it was, now would I?" her father said tightly, raising his eyebrows to make his point. 

"Well, wear another tie, Richard." 

Hermione glanced away. Another aspect of her life had just surfaced… her parents. She had always wondered why her parents had never had any other children, and over the years she had came to the horrible realization that this was due to the fact that her parents rarely got along. They didn't even sleep in the same bedroom, which wasn't public knowledge, and the maids had been given direct orders that if they ever revealed this, they would seriously regret it. But, her parents had stayed married, to Hermione's relief. There had been several times that she had questioned their future together, including her third year. She had never told Harry and Ron. She had just let them assume that her third year was only plagued by challenges associated with the time-turner. She had never told them that her father had moved out right before she left for Hogwarts. That was the real reason she had spent the night in Diagon Alley. The truth was, her parent's dental practice was far too successful and far too complicated to split, thus if they were to separate, they'd have to work with each other everyday… so they had just stuck through it. 

"Elizabeth, I don't want to wear another tie. I want to wear my blue one."

Had it not been for the doorbell ringing at that precise moment, Hermione was willing to stake her academic reputation that this quibble over her father's favorite Armani tie would end up in a ruthless row that would culminate in her parents resorting to arguing in another language, so that Hermione couldn't understand everything they were saying. 

"Who would come this early in the morning?" her mother asked as she stood up and strode toward the front door. "Are you expecting a package, Richard?"

Hermione watched as her father raised a hand to rub his forehead in frustration. But before he answered, he noticed Hermione watching him, and smiled at her, a rather forced smile, but a smile none the less. "No, darling… besides, they wouldn't be delivering packages at 7:30, now would they?" he asked in a false voice as he turned to follow his wife. 

Hermione fingered her glass, staring at the rim, slightly happy that she'd be leaving for part of the summer, and slightly afraid. Her parents always fought more when she wasn't around… how she knew that, she wasn't exactly sure, but leaving for Hogwarts always plagued her with horrible visions of returning to find her parents living in separate homes, and herself, another divorce statistic.

"Um, Hermione, dear, you have a visitor," her mother said slowly. Hermione turned around in her chair.

"Now who would be visiting me," she whispered, and then she remembered Harry's letter. "No, he didn't come here… did he?" she whispered with mixed excitement. "Coming."

She was suddenly aware that her hair was a horrible mess, that strands were still sticking to her neck, and that her body was glistening with sweat. She was wearing an old cut T-shirt and black running shorts… and she hadn't yet brushed her teeth. Her first vision of the entryway was both her parents standing side-by-side in the doorway, and then suddenly they weren't standing side-by-side, but had rushed forward.

"He's fainted," her mother said in surprise.

"Who's fainted!" Hermione ran forward, only to halt as her father stepped back into the house, with great difficulty, carrying an extremely pale looking Harry.

"Harry!" Hermione said, raising her hands to her mouth in horror. "What's wrong with him?"

"Well dear, he seems to have fainted," her mother said, stating the obvious.

Hermione bit her tongue before responding. "Why?" she finally asked as she followed her father into the sitting room, where he lay Harry down on the sofa. 

"Darling, I can't carry the trunk, would you be so kind to do so?" Hermione watched as her father stood up, casting one last glance at Harry, and then hurried over to help his wife.

Forgetting that she was waiting for an answer on why her boyfriend had suddenly lost consciousness on their doorstep, Hermione knelt down next to him and ran her hand along the side of his face. She stopped when she reached his jaw and slowly turned her hand over, so that the back of her hand was on his cheek, and then, just as her parents had always done to her, she felt his forehead. 

"Mum," Hermione said, not looking away from Harry, "Mum, he's sick."

There was a loud clunk as her father set the trunk down at the foot of the sofa, and Hedwig hooted in protest as Mrs. Granger carried her cage into the sitting room, holding it at arm's length, a horrified expression on her face. She had never grown accustomed to the fact that wizards used owls to communicate and had always hated when Hermione let the owls into the house, or worse, into the kitchen to feed them.

Hermione ran her hand down Harry's cheek again and then down his neck to his chest, where his shirt was damp with sweat. 

"Hmm… I hope he doesn't think that he gets free medical treatment here," her father said as he motioned for her to move, but he couldn't fool Hermione. Both her parents had been very impressed with Harry, and several times during the trip to America, while they were pretending to be the perfect example of a happily married couple, they had hinted not so subtly that they wouldn't be opposed to him and Hermione pursuing a relationship further than friendship.

Mr. Granger took his daughter's place, kneeling next to Harry. After several minutes of examining the unconscious boy, he began to speak to his wife.

"His pupils are dilated," he said, turning to look at Mrs. Granger, who tilted her head to indicate to her husband that Hermione was still in the room. "Oh," and then the conversation continued on in French, one of the many languages Hermione's parents spoke. Hermione scooted over next to Harry and swept his damp hair off his forehead, her eyes lingering on his scar.

"I'll go get some smelling salts," Mrs. Granger finally said, walking toward the large staircase, her feet shuffling quickly over the carpet.

"What's the matter with him?" Hermione asked in concern, her hand still on his forehead, her thumb gently sweeping across Harry's skin. 

Her father didn't look at her when he spoke, but continued to stare at Harry's face. "We don't practice this kind of medicine… sure occasionally someone has a heart attack at the office, or faints from pain, but mostly we just deal with teeth," her father said distractedly, "I'd say he has a bad bout of flu." 

Within minutes, her mother had returned with a package of smelling salts, and quickly Harry had woken. His eyes fluttered opened and he stared up at the three people hovering over him, his mind finally registering who they were.

"Hermione," he said in a soft voice, and then smiled at her. "Sorry I didn't tell you I was coming." He winced slightly and held his stomach. 

"Do your aunt and uncle know you're here?" Mrs. Granger asked, placing a cool washcloth on his forehead, her eyes staring at the scar before she covered it. 

Harry smiled slightly, though even this action looked painful to Hermione. "No," he replied, "And I doubt they care."

Hermione sat silently at Harry's side as her parents continued questioning him, asking him how he felt, exactly where he hurt, and so on. Eventually they decided that he didn't need medical attention, but could do with a good nap to let his body fight off whatever was ailing him.

"We have a guestroom on the first floor, you can have that room," Mrs. Granger said as Harry sat up. "That way you don't have to worry about the stairs." 

Once Harry was settled in the guestroom, and Mrs. Granger had taken his temperature and Mr. Granger had decided that he really didn't need to wear his blue tie after all, Hermione's parents kissed her good-bye, checked once more on Harry, and then headed off to work, making excuses that they'd much rather stay home and make sure Harry was all right.

Once Hermione was sure that her parent's Mercedes had left the drive, she ran through the house and skidded into the guestroom. Harry had sat himself up in the large bed, having propped large, amply stuffed pillows behind his back, and was running his hand over the sateen sheets. 

"I wasn't sure if this was your house when the cab pulled up," he said as Hermione entered. She blushed.

"Well, it is."

"What kind of sheets are these? They're… slippery," Harry asked, smiling at her, his face still pale. 

"Sateen, the only kind my mother buys," Hermione answered. "Here, you need to drink lots of water, mum said so." She poured him a glass of water from the picture on the bedside table, and then handed it to him. "Do you feel better? You're not going to pass out on me, are you?"

Harry smiled and shook his head. 

"Good." Hermione sat down on the bed and tucked her legs behind her. "Ok, as much as I love the idea that you've shown up at my house, what's going on?" Her face was serious now that she was convinced that Harry was just suffering from the flu and wasn't going to keel over any minute. 

Harry lowered the glass from his lips and looked at her with a sheepish expression. "They made me get a job," he replied in a sullen voice.

Hermione stared at him for a second. "Ok, so, you ran away?" she asked. She had expected a more dramatic catalyst for Harry's actions.

"They made me get a job at the dump," Harry clarified. 

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"That is so unsanitary. No wonder you're sick, Harry! There are so many viruses and bacteria living in dumps… it's a breeding ground for everything disgusting," Hermione answered, her face bearing a sympathetic frown. 

"My thoughts exactly," Harry replied, slouching down in the bed so he was lying down. "And, we're supposed to be leaving for Ron's house in a few days; has he told you a date yet?"

Hermione shook her head, "No. I was going to write to him today… though, I didn't know how since I don't have an owl. I really should get one, Harry, it would be the most practical thing to do. But, as you're here, I suppose I could just use Hedwig. But what if you hadn't shown up, I'd have had no way of contacting Ron, and then I'd have to brave the horrors of ringing you, and ask you if you could write Ron for me," Hermione would have continued to ramble on, but Harry had shut his eyes. "Are you all right?"

Harry reopened his eyes and smiled, "I already have a headache," he muttered, another sheepish expression crossing his face.

Hermione blushed again. "Oh, sorry. So, back to talking about you. You ran away…"

"I didn't want to work at a dump. We're supposed to be going to visit Adrienne sometime soon. And, well, I didn't want to work at a dump," Harry repeated.

Hermione laughed. "I don't blame you. I'll owl Ron today and ask when his dad can get us a port-key. Have you heard from Adrienne at all?"

"She owled me yesterday to give me the dates of the Dueling Championships. They're in Guatemala. She said that Professor Hartel can get us tickets."

Hermione's face brightened. "That would be such a wonderful experience, Harry! The International Dueling Championships! We could see the best duelers in the world, and pick up a few tricks for next year. Think how beneficial that would be. What an exciting learning experience!"

"I was kind of going for the vacation experience, myself," Harry replied. Hermione glared at him. 

"That too," she conceded. "Well then, that's settled. We'll go to Guatemala."

The two sat quietly for a moment, Harry staring up at Hermione, and Hermione suddenly feeling very self-conscious. 

"Dare I ask what you were doing before I arrived, because — " Harry wasn't able to finish his sentence, which he had tried so carefully to word.

"Do not say anything! I was out running," Hermione snapped, crossing her arms before her.

As ordered, Harry didn't say anything, but just stared at Hermione with an amused expression. 

"You need to sleep, and I'm going to go get cleaned up. I'll be back shortly."

* * * * *

Harry spent most of the day sleeping, and each time he woke up, he woke up to Hermione's smiling face, whether she was working on her holiday assignments, or writing to Ron, or waiting with a bowl of chicken noodle soup. During the times that he was awake, they talked about all sorts of things… whether McGonagall had ever dated, whom Dumbledore had married, whether anyone had been unfortunate enough to be kissed by Snape, what the Dueling Championships would be like, what sort of disaster Adrienne might be causing at that same exact moment. 

Crookshanks had made his way into the room and had settled next to Harry, having curled into a ball, sometimes purring in his sleep. After lunch Hermione sent Hedwig to Ron and then went back to watch Harry sleep. 

At six, Hermione excused herself and went into the kitchen to start making dinner. That was where she was when her parents came home.

"Elizabeth, of all the stupid things you could do!"

The water for the spaghetti had just begun to boil when her father's voice boomed through the house.

"Excuse me? Excuse me? _Me_? I asked _you_ first, Richard, and you agreed. You know very well that I wouldn't make such a decision without asking you."

"This is going to cost us thousands, Elizabeth, thousands!"

"Damn it, I know exactly how much it's going to cost. Don't speak to me like I'm a child." 

Hermione closed her eyes in horror and then stomped out of the kitchen. "Do you two have any sense? Have you forgotten that Harry's here?" she hissed angrily, her hands balled at her sides. 

Hermione had stopped in the doorway leading to the kitchen, her face was flushed in anger and embarrassment, and hanging down from one hand was the spatula she had used to stir the spaghetti sauce, which was now dripping onto the clean floor, leaving spots that looked remarkably like blood. 

Her parents turned around and stared at her, their expressions quickly changing from ones of anger to embarrassment.

"Oh, yes, your boyfriend is here," her father said slowly, a sheepish expression falling on his face.

"Does he feel any better?" her mother asked, throwing her husband a "we'll discuss this later" look and walking toward Hermione to give her a hug.

"I don't know, why don't you ask him," Hermione murmured as she noticed Harry walking down the corridor toward them, Crookshanks at his ankles. He was holding something in his hand.

"Ron wrote you back. I didn't know you two lived so close together," he said, an innocent expression on his face as he entered the room. Hermione couldn't tell whether he had heard the entire conversation or not, but with her parents yelling, she was sure he had heard something. He was wearing blue and white striped pajama bottoms with a matching top. Hermione had seen him in these before, as he often wore them into the common room at night.

"We don't live horribly close. Hedwig must have caught a favorable wind," Hermione responded somewhat irritably, pulling away from her mother. 

"Well, someone looks alive now," Mr. Granger said, patting Harry's back. "Do you feel better?"

"Yes, I do. Thank you both for letting me stay here. I didn't really plan on passing out on your doorstep… that just kind of happened," Harry answered, smiling at both Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were standing on opposite sides of the room. "So…" Harry was about to ask 'how was work' but thought better of it. "So… what's for dinner? Can I help with anything?"

Hermione shook her head and raised the spatula. "I'm making spaghetti. If you don't want it, there's still some soup left."

"Spaghetti sounds fine," Harry replied, folding the letter up and walking toward Hermione. "I'll set the table."

Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged skeptical looks and then followed Hermione and Harry into the kitchen. 

"Harry, are you sure you're feeling better?" Mrs. Granger asked as she caught up with him. She grabbed his arm and felt his forehead. Then, leaned forward to look into his eyes.

  
"I feel better, honest," Harry replied.

"You're not hot and your eyes look normal." Mrs. Granger turned around to look at her husband, who was leaning against the kitchen door. He shrugged. "Well, if you're feeling all right… but you don't have to set the table, you're our guest."

"I don't mind," Harry said as he scanned the glass-covered cabinets for the plates.

"No, we insist, have a seat and tell us about your school year. Hermione's mentioned some interesting things since she's been home." Mr. Granger indicated a chair, and Harry, although regretfully, followed his instructions.

Harry told Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Mrs. Granger who was setting the table, and Mr. Granger who was sitting at the head of the table with his arms crossed before him, about the previous year. He told them about meeting Adrienne, about the start of the dueling team, which Hermione had no doubt already relayed. He discussed where he, Hermione, and Ron would be going this summer. Hermione listened intently from her position before the stove, keeping an eye over the spaghetti sauce, which she thought she had burned while leaving it unattended earlier. 

Finally, both Mrs. Granger and Hermione sat down, Hermione sitting across from Harry, and Mrs. Granger, across from her husband.

"So, your friend Ron has written you about traveling to America. How exactly do you plan to get there?" Mr. Granger asked as he heaped another helping of spaghetti onto his plate. 

Harry looked up at Hermione, his mouth completely filled with spaghetti. She smirked. "A port-key, daddy." Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "It's a normal object, like a shoe or a paper-weight… something you can hold… though, I'm quite sure you could use water as a port-key, lets say if you were jumping into a pool or — " 

Harry kicked her softly under the table and gave her one of his patented "you are leaving the topic at hand" faces.

"You take the object and place a charm on it, so, when you touch it, you are transported magically to a prearranged place," Hermione finished, saying all this rather quickly, and then reaching for her water.

"Is this safe?" her mother asked. "Because I wasn't too thrilled about this whole travelling through the fireplace idea… you could have been burned."

"Perfectly safe," Harry replied, then his face darkened, "well, depending on who made it, and why it was made… but Mr. Weasley will see to it that it is completely safe."

This didn't seem to reassure Mrs. Granger, but she let the topic go.

"So, when is this expedition to take place?" Mr. Granger had now cleared his plate and had pushed it away from him.

"Well, Ron says that we can leave tomorrow. Mr. Weasley has your fireplace hooked up to the floo-network for only tonight and tomorrow. It was the only days his friend is working, as I guess he's going to Majorca soon," Harry replied, his face buried in Ron's letter. "So, we have to be at Ron's house by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. And knowing Ron, he'll want to get to Adrienne's as soon as possible… they're kind of an item."

Hermione snorted into her water. 

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, smiling as she wiped her face with a napkin. 

"If we're staying at Salem, he's going to be around that Professor Glenn an awful lot I think, whether he wants to be or not," Hermione said softly, trying not to laugh.

"Tomorrow? But Hermione, darling, this is only your third day home. I did want to see you this summer," her mother said, lowering her fork to her plate and staring at Hermione. 

"But I'll be back, mum. We're only going for a few weeks, or at least I am. I don't know what Harry's doing. If I don't come back I'll never get my holiday work done. Merlin knows that I won't get an ounce of anything accomplished with _them_ trooping around Guatemala," Hermione said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Elizabeth, she _is_ sixteen. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself," her father said airily, leaning back in his chair.

Mrs. Granger sighed and pushed her plate away from her, suddenly no longer hungry. "Well, I suppose, your friend competing in this dueling game is an important experience," her mother answered, her tone as if it wasn't important at all, but perhaps the dullest event Hermione could ever attend. 

"And educational. We'll be among the best duelers in the world, mother. The best. We can only improve by attending. Why, think of all the advanced spells and tricks we might learn?" Hermione was in her element. No longer were the up-coming Internationals about Adrienne competing; no longer was the up-coming Internationals about a vacation in Guatemala. But instead, Hermione was fixated upon the benefits that attending such a fair of dueling genius could bring upon her own technique. 

"And, it should be quite entertaining to watch Adrienne: It's going to be really crowded, and, well, she really isn't a people person," Harry added, taking in Hermione's serene face with surprise.

"Oh yes, and watching Adrienne will be fun too," Hermione added as an after thought. 

* * * * *

After dinner, Hermione left to go begin packing her trunk, leaving Harry with her parents, who were now quizzing him about Quidditch and what it was like to fly on a broom, as Hermione never told them anything exciting about broom flying. 

Crookshanks had followed Hermione, and watched with growing suspicion as she began to neatly stack shorts and T-shirts atop her bed. His worst fears were confirmed when she opened her closet door, pulled out her school trunk, and began to pile her clothes into the corner, taking care to make sure that her packing wouldn't leave any unsightly creases when she arrived at Salem. 

When she neglected to pick up his bag of cat food and place it in along with the school texts she was bringing, Crookshanks let out a loud meow of protest, and stood up in alarm.

"Crookshanks, you can't come with," Hermione cooed, reaching forward to stroke his head. "Going to Guatemala isn't going to be something you'd like. What would I do if you got lost?"

Crookshanks didn't seem impressed with her reasoning. Hermione picked the big cat up and placed him in her lap, holding his scrunched face before hers. His nose was wrinkled up as if he had smelt something putrid, as was his way of displaying his displeasure with one of her decisions. 

"We're going to go visit Adrienne. You wouldn't want to come, because she lives at the school… which means she gets to use her magic during the summer, which means, she'll likely want to practice transfiguring you." Hermione said this very nonchalantly, as if she were just mentioning it in conversation… though her real intentions were to frighten Crookshanks and make him happy he wasn't coming along. Crookshanks looked at her for a second and then bristled slightly as if the very thought of spending more time than necessary with Adrienne was more than he could stand.

"Knew you'd see it my way," Hermione said as she lowered Crookshanks to the ground and stared into the trunk, wondering exactly what she was forgetting this time. Last summer she forgot toothpaste; she hoped what ever she was forgetting this summer would be as easy to replace.

She was just closing her trunk when there was a knock on her door, and then it creaked open, Harry's head appearing in the crack.

"What, finally escape my parents?" she asked in amusement as he walked into her room. She expected him to take a seat or sit on the floor, or comment on her bedroom, but he didn't.

"Mr. Weasley called," Harry said with mixed surprise, having stopped just inside the doorway.

"He what?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows raising in disbelief. "Why would he do that?"

"Something's wrong, Hermione."

This direct statement took her by surprise, and she narrowed her eyes in confusion. "What do you mean something's wrong?" she asked slowly.

"He wouldn't say over the phone, only said we need to leave for Salem tonight," Harry replied.

Hermione slowly stood up, suddenly feeling cold. For the months to come, she'd remember this night as vividly as she had experienced it. She'd remember the feeling of foreboding, for it would surface again, and she'd remember how she didn't need to be told exactly what was the matter, she already knew it was bad: She could feel it.

"How are we to get there? I don't know how to get to his house by road… so my parents can't drive us," Hermione whispered. Crookshanks hand stood up again and was rubbing the side of her ankle reassuredly. 

"Ron sent a vial of Floo Powder with Hedwig when he wrote you back," Harry answered, shifting his feet nervously. 

A silence had befallen the room, and suddenly, for a rare moment in her life, Hermione didn't know what to say. She turned back to her trunk and closed and locked the lid, pocketing her key in her jean shorts. 

"My parents aren't going to like this," Hermione muttered as she stood up, giving Crookshanks a kiss on the top of the head before putting him onto her bed.

"You're parents opened a few bottles of wine an hour ago, Herm…" Harry answered, an amused expression adorning his face. 

Hermione blushed with embarrassment. "Oh? Well then, they might not care at all," she answered, "Will you help me with my trunk?"

Harry wouldn't let her carry her trunk, and had insisted that he alone lug it down the corridor. Hermione following behind, anxiously reminding him that he had been sick all day.

"What did you pack in here, rocks?" he asked as he repositioned his hands for the trip down the stairs.

"My texts," Hermione replied, following him down the stairs, her hand ready to fly out and grab the back of his shirt, as he had changed out of his pajamas, in case he were to fall forward.

"Hermione!" but Harry stopped there, realizing that there was no reason to chastise her… she'd bring her homework anywhere, even to Guatemala.

"The fireplace in the Great Room will work fine," Hermione directed, pointing in a direction of the house Harry hadn't yet explored, or at least she thought he hadn't explored. 

"How many rooms do you have?" he asked as he followed her through, quickly losing grip on the trunk.

"I've never counted," Hermione replied dully. 

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were already in the Great Room; a fire already started in the fireplace. Harry must have told them we'd have to leave, Hermione thought. Her parents were standing on the Oriental rug in the middle of the floor, but they weren't looking at each other, but staring very pointedly in opposite directions.

"There they are!" her father exclaimed as Harry unceremoniously dropped Hermione's trunk to the ground, unable to hold it any longer. Harry's trunk was already by the fireplace, a small glass vial lying atop it. "The fire good enough for you, Harry?"

Harry pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Well… I think that will do. Never have prepared a fire for travel myself, but it looks fine to me," he answered.

"Darling, I'll miss you dearly," Mrs. Granger said, suddenly rushing forward to wrap her arms around Hermione's neck. Hermione gagged in protest. "Let us know when you'll be back."

"I will," Hermione managed, massaging her neck where her mother had almost strangled her while hugging her goodbye. 

Hermione watched as Harry shook Mr. Granger's hand, and then made his way to his trunk. Hermione noticed that Hedwig's cage wasn't in the room.

"Where's Hedwig?" Hermione asked, rubbing her arms. She still had goosebumps, and by the look of Harry's pale face he was worried about something too. She wondered what Mr. Weasley had said to him, because Harry didn't usually express worry this quickly.

"Harry's been kind enough to let her stay with us. We promised to feed her and let her go off and do all her owl-ly things… that way we'll be able to get a hold of you should anything come up," her father said, and Hermione was struck by the tone of his voice. She glanced at her mother, who had quickly crossed her arms before her, as if his statement had stung. 

"Oh, ok," was all Hermione managed to say, realizing something for the first time… something Harry had missed. Her parents hadn't opened the wine to celebrate or to enjoy themselves, they had done so to drown out whatever they were itching to yell at each other, hoping that they'd get drunk enough and forget they're newest problem until after Hermione and Harry left. They had done this before, and sometimes it worked, and other times it just made them argue with increased vigor.

"We'll miss you darling," her mother whispered, hugging her again, this time kissing her cheek. Hermione kissed her mother back, and then went to hug her father, who bent down to whisper in her ear that he'd miss her. 

"Be careful," her mother said, biting her lip, something she never did. 

"What's going on?" Hermione asked, staring at them with a confused expression. 

"Well, naturally we'd be worried… you're going to Guatemala without us," her father replied. 

Hermione didn't say anything; she just turned around and moved to turn her trunk on its side to better facilitate putting it in the fireplace. 

"What are they on about?" Hermione whispered to Harry as he approached to help her. 

"They talked to Mr. Weasley before I did. They asked me to leave the room… I don't know," Harry answered in a low voice. 

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Hermione hissed back, and then noticed that her parents were watching them closely.

Harry didn't reply. He pulled the top off the Floo Powder and then looked back at Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

"I really appreciate everything, thanks," he replied, smiling at them. "And feel free to owl us. Hedwig won't mind the long trip: She likes them."

"She likes chocolate-chip cookies too," Hermione added.

"We'll see you later, love," Mrs. Granger replied. She had taken a seat in a rocking chair and had folded her hands in her lap, rocking nervously. 

"Learn some good dueling moves," her father instructed. Hermione stared at her father for a second, realizing that allowing her to go was going against all his instincts. His face gave away his true feelings, and by his expression, Hermione realized that he too was worried. 

Harry turned around and tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace. Immediately the flames turned green. 

"Here you go, Hermione," Harry said, handing her the vial, and then, with a smile at the Grangers and an order of direction to the fireplace, Harry and his trunk stepped into the green flames and disappeared.

"Hermione."

Hermione had been watching the fireplace, waiting for the green flame to die down. She turned around, wondering what else her father had to say to her.

"Listen. I'm not going to tell you much. I don't understand it, all right? It's your world, not mine, understanding it isn't my privilege." Her father, despite his red face, was talking fluently, but he didn't approach her, he continued to stand in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets. "But no matter where you are… with the wizards or with us, you have a good head… trust your instincts, Hermione. I don't know if you'll be able to trust much else."

"What?" she asked, her voice caught in her throat. "What's going on?" 

"Have fun on your trip, Hermione, and be careful, please," her father continued, "Go, on, Harry'll be wondering where you are." 

Hermione stared at her parents, a horrified feeling resting in her chest. Her parents could tell something was wrong. Mr. Weasley wanted them to leave Britain that night…

"Mum, Dad?" Hermione asked again, hoping for some clarification.

"Go, Hermione." Her mother was staring at her in an imperial fashion; her lips pursed together, her hands clasped in a death grip. 

As if under the Imperious Curse, Hermione turned around, her body moving without her mind needing to tell her to. She dragged her trunk right before the fireplace, tossed in the Floo Powder and yelled "The Burrow." 

And as she stepped into the green flames, as she began to spin, and as she pressed her trunk to her body to keep a good hold on it, she watched the world as she knew dissolve into a memory.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Author's Notes:All right, this chapter has been finished for a month, but due to the FFN problems, I was unable to post.And then to make it worse, my computer didn't come before I left for University, so I spent almost two weeks computerless (which was horrible!)But, obviously, I have a computer now… so writing will be easier.I have started ch3, and I'm thinking two weeks at the most before I post.**

I understand that this chapter may deviate from your ideas of Hermione and her family.I'm NOT making Hermione anorexic or anything like that.She will stay in her canon character, but there will be further development of her character as I interpret it.

But, while you're waiting for the next chapter, you can always check out "Before the Mist," which I'm co-writing with Quill.Only ch1 is up so far, but ch2 should be up in a few weeks (as AE is my main priority).

Thanks to my amazing Beta reader, Christine…no I haven't dropped off the face of the Earth, I just couldn't write you back because I couldn't really check my e-mail for real until last night.Thanks also to Viv for looking over Chapter 2 for me, and also to Crystal Music for reading it for me right after I wrote it.

My thanks section is most likely missing names, which is due to time constraints, problems accessing FFN as my AOL is being dumb, and several other glitches.I appreciate all reviews I get, I look forward to reading them, and I love to hear everyone's ideas, complaints, questions, etc.So, saying that, a big thanks to all who reviewed, including but not limited to:

***Britz* (No, the Dursleys haven't found out that Adrienne is indeed alive, and they will never find out.Poor souls),**

**Alex_Rosas**** (I'd be posting more often if it weren't for all the moving problems and such, but I think those are all straightened out now),**

**Alistian**** Black (let's work on the cheering up business, now shall we?Be happy… you're new computer came, you got skipped a grade!Jump of the wall in excitement cutie!)**

**Amadeus (Don't worry, sleep comes first to me too…plus, who wants to spend time writing a review when a soft and comfy bed is calling to them?Not me… I'd give into the bed)**

**Amanda Mancini (Buds?Harry and Dudley?Oh dear.Nope, couldn't stomach that.And while I think it would be entirely hilarious to give Dudley an erectile problem and have him calling Bob Dole for help, can't happen, sorry)**

**Athena Lionfire (Hehe – yeah, if I were a cab driver and someone threw up in my cab I'd charge them a whole lot more than double… good thing Harry didn't throw up),**

**Black Beyond (Wishing bad things on Vernon are we?Well, sometimes wishes do come true.Hmm… Dumbledore is out doing what Dumbledore does best, which remains a mystery to me… but I agree with JKR, I wouldn't be surprised if he was out sunbathing at a beach somewhere),**

**Bronze Eagle (I thought it would be a good experience for Harry to work in a dump, and also, the degrading association with such a job plays in well for the plot line…thanks for the review!),**

**Calder Lynch (Thanks!That means so much to me, and I hope your right, I'd so love to write professionally),**

**Charlie (Ah… my prince reviewed… and what a long one at that.Nope, don't think we ever ever say the L word… not at all ::grins stupidly and realizes that she can't lie to save her life::And I agree, Hermione has so much more potential than we've seen in the canon… so, I intend to expand much more on Hermione's capabilities.JKR doesn't give her enough credit… not at all.So, keep your eyes open for super-Hermione… because she does make an appearance, and an important one at that.)**

**Chrissy** (FFN can be SUCH a pain sometimes.The Death Eater's presence at Privet Drive will be explained in the next chapter, but I can assure you that nothing good came out of their visit.Thanks for the compliment on my originality.That's why I steered away from making Dudley fat and whatever everyone else writes him as…don't like to follow too much in other people's footsteps),

**Crazy_Lualo** (A week!A week!Almost like how I was posting before Chapter 26.I'm going to try and aim for two weeks between chapters at the most… though that will have to depend on my university schedule – that was what I wrote when I finished this chapter… but as FFN was down and then I moved without a computer…it did take a month... unfortunatly),

**E.J. Malfoy (Thanks for all the support regarding my stories.I appreciate you're faith in me as a writer),**

**Enid Nightshade (Ooh Ooh Ooh!I love the name Enid!Hehe… think it has a nice ring to it),**

**Erica!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I had been wondering where you've been!Of course I'll IM you. I was just thinking about you a few days ago, wondering where you'd gone off to.I'm glad you're back, and I'm sure I'll talk to you soon),**

**Fallen*Angel (I'm glad you thought that I managed to keep everyone in character…especially Harry, he's always so hard to write),**

**Freda Potter (Loved the speech.Harry will get muscles later, don't worry.Yup, Harry just has to be cute and sexy…it has to go against some kind of rule to have a hero who's wimpy and ugly, don't you think?)**

**Haley Granda Potter (Dear me, I apologize for such a long wait…but there was nothing I could do.But now that I've moved, my laptop has come, and FFN is back up, things should be posted more regularily),**

**Hermione (you've been thanked again!Yup, Dudley the Underwear Model… didn't think it had been done before, so I figured.. oh, what the heck!Yeah, everything's ok now, but thanks for asking),**

**Lauren (I hope everything is going ok.DON'T hesitate to call me if you need to.You know I'll always be there),**

**MarsIsBrightTonight** (I put you on my "to-read" list.Brownie points for imagery?Great, because I always think I don't use enough imagery… always think I use too much dialogue.Harry on a frog card?I've honestly never thought of that.But, I think that if he were to be on a frog card, it would be after he's older),

**Megan(****Kitty) (You think I write like a professional… ::whoops for joy and runs around the house screaming with excitement::… ohh, I so want to write professionally, thanks for the encouragement.Maybe one day you'll see something in Barnes and Nobles with my name on it... one could hope at least),**

**METMA Mandy (Glad someone liked Pete…he was hilarious to write…I kept seeing this big dirty guy and kept laughing.BTW, how'd you do on that writing assignment?)**

**Miss Liss (Sorry for the lack of Adrienne, but I promise, she'll be back soon, causing trouble, dueling, and making life difficult for all involved),**

**Nome** (A house-elf in the buff waving a carving knife?Oh my… why didn't I think of that.Unfortunately I didn't…so, sorry, no house-elves (at least I don't think so)… but Adrienne does bring along some surprises… so humor should ensue),

**Persphone**** Malfoy (Nope, Harry didn't get sick in the car.I thought that might be a little too embarrassing for him.Though, I doubt he was too thrilled about passing out at the Grangers'),**

**PixyChick** (I'm glad you enjoyed it!And I hope you had a wonderful birthday and ate lots and lots and lots of cake, and opened all kind of fun presents!),

**PrGirl1433 (Can you believe it took so long to get here?That week without a computer almost killed me!Stupid shipping company),**

**Ravenclaw**** Filly (Yes, I do love to torture my characters…well… not really, but I could pretend to be an evil author who takes great pleasure from whipping my characters into an inch of their lives and then let them recover or die at will.Ok.. maybe not.. that sounds depressing.But still, even if this story spells trouble for Harry, he's managed to escape everything else so far, so it is entirely possible that the same would hold true in this case… and it is entirely possible that it won't)**

**Shadow (I think you got it in one… because when I was reading another fanfic earlier today I caught myself doing exactly what you explained.Yup, the more trouble Harry gets into, the more I smile.Oh, but Avery can't explode yet, just wouldn't work.Maybe later),**

**Shana**** (Sashina) (Yup.. feeling lots better.Thanks for asking.Well, I discovered this recipe for Spinach and Strawberry salad and promptly feel head over heels for it.So, I've been eating a lot of Spinach…on my way to being Popeye I guess),**

**Sofie** (Ooh… my newest fascination with being vegetarian is Spinach and Strawberry Salad… I've eaten so much of that that I'm convinced any moment I'll turn a mix of green and red.I can't promise anything about Harry, but Adrienne will be back in later chapters, mayhem and all),

**Soul Dragon (poor Crookshanks, jealous of an owl and now left at home while Hermione goes out on adventures.**But, I do LOVE blue Smarties… think it's like the thing with green M&Ms. Everyone says there's something special about them, and I think the same about the blue Smarties.),

**Tahlya** (When I was writing that scene with Nate staring at Harry, the thought crossed my mind of having Nate be a wizard… but it just didn't work out.There'll be more Adrienne as the story progresses, either in the third or the fourth chapter, depending on where I split them),

**Teal Llama (wow… another amazingly original name!)**

**Tim (Thanks for the e-mail!It's such a compliment to hear people compare me to JKR, but really, I don't think I live up to her standards),**

**Veronica Lupin (I wonder how you think the nightshade business is going to play out.I can tell you that it'll be an important part in the entire story, but I bet ya two pennies it isn't exactly what you're thinking.I can't wait until you post your next chapter!So…hehe…. write away, darlin, write away!)**


	4. Wanted

Chapter3

**Among Enemies**

by Camille

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_**Disclaimer: **This story is based after the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. Adrienne, Mia, Joe, and everyone else whom does not appear in the canon were created by me. All other characters, places, situations, and events are owned by JKR, Warner Bros, and whoever else is lucky enough to have the rights. _   
  
  
**NOTICE REGARDING FFN'S DISCONTINUATION OF FREE AUTHOR-ALERTS**: I know that I personally rely heavily on Author Alerts to know when stories have been posted, as I don't have time to go and check everyday to see if all the stories I'm currently reading have been updated (though I don't think I'll be reading any fanfiction for a while not until my life settles back down). I also know that I have been irregular in my own updating of AE, something that given the current circumstances, will not improve quite yet. I hope that eventually I'll be able to make and commit to a schedule like I did for the first 25 chapters of the GS, unfortunately, I am unable to right now. Many of my readers have suggested that I make an e-group to serve as an author-alert; however, I currently have no free time (I've been averaging three hours of sleep a night to accommodate homework and other necessary demands) and cannot currently devote any time to running such a group. So, the only thing I can think of is to make a master-list of e-mail addresses. If you want me to e-mail you (it will be in a mass e-mail, will not contain the chapters as an attachment, and will not have a direct link to my FFN page only an alert that I've posted) when I post, please send me your e-mail address, not in the e-mail itself, but instead in the **subject heading**. I will then copy the e-mails down and send out a mass e-mail every time I post. My e-mail address is: ryesi1@aol.com If anyone has a better idea, I'd be happy to hear it and to consider it.   


There will be a few days delay before I post this chapter on my website, due to the fact that I need to find the time to do the HTML

**IMPORTANT TIMING NOTE: **Hmm.. being the "genius" that I am ::laughs:: I forgot to explain how the chapters were timed. The Epilogue of GS, where Adrienne blows up the South Wing of Salem takes place on Adrienne's first night back to America, which is Harry's first full day back with the Dursleys, and the day that he gets the owl from Adrienne. This chapter, along with the last chapter takes place on the second full day of Holiday. I do not count the day in which they take the Hogwarts Express to be a full day of holiday thus the first day begins when Harry begins work at the dump.  


**

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Chapter Three: Wanted  
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**  
The Burrow, with its cluttered yet homey atmosphere, with its own lively assortment of animals and magical creatures, and with the ever entertaining moments that was life with the Weasleys, was Harry's favorite place to spend his time. If he could have lived any other life than that which he did with the Dursleys, living at the Burrow would be second only to living at his own home with his own parents. Never had he imagined that there would be a time when his arrival would be one that he would want to forget, to put in his past and to bury with such force that the memory would never again surface in his mind.   


Now accustomed to the various pitfalls associated with traveling via the Floo Network, Harry braced himself for the sudden jolt of arriving in the large stone fireplace that served as the heart of the kitchen. This time he didn't fall forward, nor did he fall into one of the hearth's walls, but instead he calmly brushed the layer of soot that had accumulated on his glasses.   


The small Weasley kitchen hadn't changed from Harry's last visit the summer of the Quidditch World Cup, and neither, it seemed, had the position of the occupants in the room. The scrubbed wooden table, which had been magically expanded to fit the entire family without occupying more space than was needed for a family of four, was adorned with piles of tattered and dusty books, mixed with what looked like various back issues of journals, including one that Harry had seen in Professor McGonagall's study: _The European Journal of Modern Transfiguration._ Grouped around the table, heads bent close to the multitudes of opened texts, were Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie, whom Harry assumed were home for a holiday. They looked up as Harry emerged, still slightly sooty, from the fireplace.  


"Harry," Bill said as acknowledgement. Harry noticed that his voice was slightly raised, as if there were ulterior motives behind the greeting. Within seconds Harry realized there were.   


"Oh, Harry!" On cue, Mrs. Weasley, her hands wrapped in her apron as if she had been twisting it from nerves, appeared in the doorway from the sitting room, and then in amazing haste closed the distance, untangled her hands, and drew Harry into a tight hug. "Are you all right?"  


"I'm fine, really," Harry replied hesitantly, stepping away from Mrs. Weasley, realizing that Mr. and Mrs. Granger must have told Mr. Weasley that he had fallen ill on their doorstep.  


"When Arthur said that you were taken ill this morning, why, I" Mrs. Weasley stopped and again began twisting her hands in her apron and eyeing Harry as if he were about to break at any moment.   


Harry had only seen Mrs. Weasley this unsettled twice in his life, and both occasions were during his fourth year. At those times though, he had fully understood her actions, but now, as she stared at him with a pale face, the soft wrinkles of time and motherhood appearing like never before, he had no inkling of what was bothering her.   


There was a soft whooshing sound behind him, announcing Hermione's entrance into The Burrow, and just as with Harry's entrance, Bill announced her name. Mrs. Weasley continued to stare at Harry, not at all glancing in the direction of the fireplace, where Fred had jumped up from his station at the table to assist Hermione in extricating herself from below her trunk, as it had fallen atop her when she had toppled out of the hearth.  


"Merlin! What do you have in here, bricks?" Fred groaned as he settled her trunk on the floor, eyeing it suspiciously.  


"Textbooks," Hermione replied, brushing her shirt as she stood up.   


"You're going on a holiday, and you brought your work?" Fred asked in disgust, his freckled face screwing up in horror. "You poor, disturbed child."  


"If I start now, then I can enjoy the rest of my holiday without having to worry about completing last minute assignments," Hermione replied in an agitated voice, and then without waiting for Fred to quip back, she spun around. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice low and stern. Her eyes surveyed the table before her, where Bill and Charlie were scribbling on a piece of paper.   


"Harry! Hermione!" A new voice had entered into the silent kitchen, which called Harry, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley's attention, but not the four boys: Who were working, Fred and George especially, harder and more intently than Harry had ever seen them work.   


"Arthur. You're back all ready? I thought you said it would take a little longer," Mrs. Weasley said in a relieved tone, again dropping her apron and turning to face her husband, who had just Apparated in the doorway. He was wearing faded purple robes, which looked as if they were inside out. In the year that Harry hadn't seen him, Mr. Weasley had continued his progression toward the land of the bald. Harry seemed to remember Ron having mentioned at one time that his father was going to purchase a new potion that claimed to restore one's hair to its full potential, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion that such a potion required more Galleons than the Weasleys could spare.  


"The Ministry's a zoo, Molly," Arthur breathed. "There hasn't been this much activity since, well, for a while. And to make it worse, it isn't even organized. Everyone from the Minister's Office on down are running around like Hippogriffs with their heads cut off, and no one was intelligent enough to cast an anti-gossiping charm, so who knows how much the story is changing."  


"What's happening?" Harry asked, his heart rising into his throat. His mind was churning, piecing together possible reasons for his and Hermione's needing to leave for The Burrow that night, and more importantly, leaving the country that night. Voldemort's done something. He's finally succeeded in regaining the public's attention, and now his latest reign of terror has begun. These thoughts spun unharnessed through Harry's head, which was beginning to ache again, like it had earlier in the morning.   


"But never you mind the Ministry right now, Molly: I Apparated as quickly as I could, so I could meet them when they arrived." Mr. Weasley turned his attention back to Harry and Hermione, who were now standing side by side, both concocting horror stories about the public return of Voldemort. It must have been something huge to have finally alerted the Ministry to attention.   


"Harry, Hermione, I wish we could be seeing you under different circumstances," Mr. Weasley began, his usually jolly and jubilant face bearing a solemn expression. Mr. Weasley cast a glance at Bill and Charlie, who were watching Fred and George intently mutter spells and flick their wands at an old, blue dishcloth. "Follow me."  


Casting a confused glance at Hermione, Harry followed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley into the sitting room. Upon entering, Harry's gaze fell upon the large grandfather clock that stood against one wall. If Harry remembered right, the clock had once adorned the kitchen, but for some reason or another, it had been moved. All the Weasley names were positioned at "Home" except for one, Percy's. The arrow bearing his name was pointing at the space labeled "Work."  
"Where's Ron?" Mr. Weasley asked, and within seconds Mrs. Weasley had drawn herself from the chair she had just taken, and made her way to the rickety staircase. Mr. Weasley indicated for Harry and Hermione to sit. "First off, I apologize for the abruptness of my request for you to leave on such short notice." Mr. Weasley rubbed an eye and then ran his hand through what was left of his hair. "But given the current situation — "  


"What situation?" The unmistakable voice of Ronald Weasley drifted into the sitting room as he descended from the stairwell. "It's about time I'm let out of the attic. The ghoul wasn't pleased to have me moping around up there."   


So Ron doesn't know either, Harry thought.   


"Oh, hallo Harry, Hermione," Ron said, a large grin breaking across his face as he finally registered their presence. "Mum told me that we would be leaving tonight that's why I had to clean the attic, I guess." Ron shot a withering look at his mother, who had retaken her rocking chair and was rocking too and fro, her lips pursed in either frustration or worry; Harry couldn't make out which.  


"Ron, sit down for a moment, you should hear this too," Mr. Weasley instructed, and Ron obediently followed, taking the empty cushion next to Harry.   


"What situation?" Hermione asked, referring to what Mr. Weasley was going to say before Ron interrupted him. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and clasping her fingers before her, her brown eyes wide with curiosity.   


Mr. Weasley sighed and leaned back in the chair he had pulled before the sofa. "Harry," he started, but then he stopped, swallowing and sighing again.   


Mr. Weasley's behavior reminded Harry greatly of how he had acted when he had wanted to warn Harry about Sirius Black before his third year. Remembering that Mr. Weasley sometimes needed prompting to express what he wanted to say, Harry smiled what he hoped was an encouraging smile.  


"I don't know how to say this, Harry. I don't even know where to begin." Mr. Weasley wiped the back of his hand over his brow, which had begun to glisten from stress. "This morning at 8, two representatives from the Department of Mysteries arrived at your Aunt and Uncle's house. According to their report, they had intentions of interviewing you."  


Harry laughed inwardly at how surprised the Ministry must have been to find that he had run away. The tension within Harry eased substantially and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "I suppose my Aunt and Uncle weren't too thrilled. And I suppose the Ministry representatives were surprised to have found me gone," Harry answered, relieved that whatever seemed to be bothering Mr. Weasley was the result of his disappearance.  


"No, Harry, you're aunt and uncle weren't angry, nor thrilled, nor anything."   


Harry felt Hermione shift uncomfortably next to him, and he glanced from her to Ron, who were both staring at Mr. Weasley with confused expressions.  


"When the representatives knocked on the door, there was no answer; however, the door wasn't latched, just closed."  


Harry's memory flashed back to what he could remember of that morning, as many parts had been erased or fogged from whatever had plagued him. Like a choppy movie image, Harry pictured himself stepping out of the house, shutting the door behind him but not latching it, as the latch was horribly scratchy and he didn't want to wake anyone up.   


"I didn't shut the door all the way when I left," Harry clarified for Mr. Weasley. "And if you don't latch it, it would open if you knocked hard enough."   


"Which is what happened," Mr. Weasley continued. "The representatives found this odd, as would I. They entered the house to investigate. Harry, your aunt, your uncle, and your cousin were found at the kitchen table, slumped over into their breakfast."  


"What?" Harry asked, staring at Mr. Weasley in disbelief.  


"It wasn't determined until a few hours later, Harry, but they ingested Nightshade."  


"What!" Harry repeated, his eyes widening in misunderstanding, his mind trying to remember everything he had learned about Nightshade in Potions.  


"It was in the milk, which they had poured on their hot cereal," Mr. Weasley continued, his face steeled over, as if he were forcing himself to talk.   


Harry shook his head. "No," he replied. "They wouldn't put Nightshade in their milk."  


"Of course they wouldn't," Hermione answered hotly, her face contorting into a frightful grimace. "So, who did it?"  


It was at this point that Mrs. Weasley began to sniffle and again started twisting her hands in her apron, just as Dobby had done to his pillowcase during Harry's second year. Harry found this horribly disconcerting and shifted uneasily in his seat, the slow realization beginning to filter through his mind.   


"You mean someone broke into my house and poisoned my aunt, uncle, and cousin with Nightshade," Harry said in a soft voice, his eyes fixating at a point somewhere in the far distance, at a point that didn't find its resolution in the sitting room, nor anywhere on the Weasley's property, but instead at a point where Harry's own mind could safely dissect what he had just been told.   


"And Nightshade, Harry" Mr. Weasley began, staring at Harry with concern as Harry's facial expression drifted further and further into oblivion. No emotion traced Harry's pale face, not a trace of worry, regret, or fear, but instead adorning it was an expression of confusion.  


"Is deadly. We learned that in Potions," Ron said quietly. He too had paled dramatically, which only served to make his freckles stand out even more poignantly on his face, making him look like some crude rendition of a connect the dots game gone wrong.   


Harry was no longer aware of the room around him. All he was aware of was the space in which his mind, and consequently his conscious, had come to dwell. From around him faded the Weasley sitting room, faded the occupants, faded everything, and in its place was a bleak gray atmosphere. Harry continued to stare into this endless sea of gray, his mind pulling at what he had just been told, emotions he never knew nor imagined he had surfacing from inside his chest with a great hitch of pain, as if his heart were being pulled straight through his rib cage. He heaved a breath, his chest feeling horribly heavy, and gasped slightly as he felt a hand come to rest on his leg, and squeeze lightly, not hard, but just enough. Harry didn't see who was next to him, and he didn't turn to look, nor attempt to draw himself back to full consciousness, for he knew exactly whom had just placed her hand upon his leg.  


Hermione stared at Harry as the sitting room drifted into an uncanny silence. He had never gotten along with the Dursleys, true, but the fact remained that indeed they had been all he had known since he could first remember. And while they had never progressed to become his favorite people, Hermione had always known that if anything were to happen to them, Harry would blame himself. For, if it had not been for him, then his parents, his friends, and subsequently, the Dursleys, would never be in danger.   


"I thought there were security wards up around the house," Harry said suddenly, snapping out of his stupor and staring intently at Mr. Weasley, who was taken aback by Harry's abrupt reentrance into their midst.   


"According to Dumbledore, there are. And that, Harry, is raising very difficult questions." Mr. Weasley's face again darkened, and by the way he positioned himself in his chair, Harry had the sinking feeling, that whatever Mr. Weasley was going to say was indeed the true reason for why the Ministry was in chaos, for why Mr. Weasley had braved the telephone, and for why Harry and Hermione had arrived at the Weasleys' a day early.   


"But, if there are security wards how would anyone break inside to poison them? We studied basic security wards last year in Defense, and even the basic ones are horribly difficult to disarm," Hermione said softly, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed in thought. "And if the basic ones are that difficult to disarm, then think of how strong the wards performed by Professor Dumbledore would be."  


"The Ministry considers the Dursleys' home as impenetrable as Azkaban," Mrs. Weasley said between sniffles, cutting off her husband, who had opened his mouth to answer Hermione's question. Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "No means of stealth could allow access onto the Dursley property if harm was intended."  


"They don't think that the Dursleys poisoned themselves, do they?" Ron asked, aghast. "Because they really aren't that dumb. Sure, they're self-driven, prejudice Muggles, but they hate magic too much to go ingesting magical poisons."   


"No, Ron, they don't think the Dursleys poisoned themselves," Mr. Weasley said heavily.   


Suddenly, Harry felt Hermione jump and heard her gasp, raising a hand to her mouth in horror. "No," she whispered, shaking her head as if she were trying to banish a horrible thought from her mind. "No," she repeated. "The Ministry takes the stance that an outsider gaining admittance to any distance close enough to kill the Dursleys is basically impossible, and they don't believe it was suicide, which obviously it wouldn't be would it? No. But that only leaves one other choice." At this, all eyes turned to Harry, Hermione's filled with disbelief, Ron's with confusion, Mr. Weasley's with despair, and Mrs. Weasley's with tears.  


"I didn't murder Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, or Dudley," Harry drawled in a low voice, his eyes wide. He knew that no one in the room was accusing him of doing so, that from their expressions, they were just as appalled at the very idea as he was.   


"Of course you didn't, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley wailed, beginning to rock nervously again, continuing the incessant twisting of her hands.   


"The very thought is absurd!" Harry exclaimed, a surge of anger rising inside of him, and he jumped up from the sofa. "This is why you called, isn't it? This is why you're making us leave? Because the Ministry of Magic thinks that I, me, _Harry Potter_" Harry drawled out his own name with such hatred that Hermione flinched, "would murder what remained of my family?"   


"You have Adrienne also," Ron interjected.  


"She doesn't count," Harry said in a low voice, his green eyes flashing.   


"Harry, from the Ministry's standpoint, it's suspicious. I, for one, don't believe it. But, according to the Ministry, you're guardians were found dead shortly after you ran away. It isn't a mystery that you didn't get along, and that you haven't ever gotten along," Mr. Weasley said softly, "You were the last one to see them alive, Harry."  


Harry nervously sat back upon the sofa. Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley were dead, murdered in their own home, under conditions that were guaranteed to provide their and his protection. And moreover, Harry began to realize, that the murders had been so methodically planned, that it seemed that the only possible culprit could be him.   


Harry's thoughts quickly turned to his godfather: Sirius Black had never been given a trial. He had been sent straight to Azkaban, although he was innocent. But then again Sirius Black had also been believed to be the second to Voldemort, to be the main underling of the most evil wizard in existence. The stigma of his association was enough, coupled with the events and values of the period, to warrant Black's prompt imprisonment, or so some believed; Harry though, did not hold this conviction. Surely, Harry thought, surely that if the Ministry were going to pursue investigating him as a suspect in the murder of his own aunt, uncle, and cousin, they would at least allow him to plead his case.  


And if watching a horrible movie, the type in which the audience rise from their seats to protest the course of action taken upon the screen, Harry's mind again changed direction, zooming back in time to when he had fallen into Professor Dumbledore's pensive. He had returned to the circular court room, and before Harry's eyes his memory played a forwarded version of those events. None of the defendants had ever really been given a defense. The amount of defense in the instances Harry saw was directly linked to the attitudes of the wizard in charge to the defendant.   


"Harry?"  


Harry snapped back to reality. Mr. Weasley was staring at him, a despairing expression still adorning his face.  


"The Ministry doesn't believe in 'innocent until proven guilty', does it," Harry said, though it was more of a statement than a question. For, he didn't really need Mr. Weasley to confirm this: His memories, though brief and abridged, served as all the proof he needed. Being accused of murder in the wizarding world was very different than the same accusation in the Muggle world.   


"No, they don't," Hermione said in a soft but firm voice, tightening her grip on Harry. Her hand had moved from his leg when he stood up, and when he had returned to a sitting position she had clasped his hand in hers.   


"There's so much distrust harbored in our culture, Harry, distrust passed down through generations of hate and prejudice. It's something that we have not been able to overcome on such a scale as many of the Muggle nations," Mr. Weasley conceded, with the air of revealing a closet skeleton. "This distrust has been incorporated strongly into our government, into our lives. Look at the treatment of Muggles and Muggle-borns by some wizards."   


Harry knew exactly what kind of wizards Mr. Weasley was referring to. So did Hermione, who's face darkened in response to this.   


"But no one would believe that Harry would kill them," Ron exclaimed, nodding his head to accentuate his point. "Dad, no one would. That would be like asking everyone to suddenly love You-Know-Who."  


"Ron's right. Harry" Hermione stopped to word her sentence, trying to make it seem as if she weren't about to idolize her boyfriend and best friend, "You've seen how people act when they first see him. He's sorry Harry he's not just some teenager to most wizards, he's, he's almost dehumanized, more like a symbol a symbol of hope for the future. And in the wake of You-Know-Who's wrath, more than anything, or at least from what I've seen, they cling to this symbol, the cling to him, because somehow he redeemed our society and our future. I just don't see people turning around on those beliefs."  


Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "That's what you would think, wouldn't you?"  


This comment was met with a prolonged silence.  


"Well, if the Ministry were going to come for me, wouldn't they have come by now?" Harry asked incredulously, suddenly feeling very disenchanted with the world as he knew it. This was not supposed to happen. There was enough wrong with his life without him being framed for murder. For, he couldn't deny it, he couldn't rationalize against it: Hermione and Mr. Weasley were right someone killed the Dursleys with the full awareness that the most feasible, though perhaps not logical, culprit would be none other than poor, orphaned Harry Potter.   


"Oh, mark my words, Harry. They will be coming, and when they finally do, there will be nothing that we can do to stop them," Mr. Weasley said darkly. "You are lucky, Harry, in the sense that there is much reverence still held toward you. No one in the Ministry will make any move to formally investigate you until every other possible avenue they can dream up has been explored. The problem is, as Hermione's stated it, there are only two other avenues, and come tomorrow, or even perhaps tonight, both avenues will be exhausted, and by the simple process of elimination, the arrow will fall on you."  


"So, what do we do?" Hermione asked, biting the edge of her lip.  


"We give the Ministry more time," Mr. Weasley said in a slow and deliberate voice, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.   


"What?" Ron drawled, his face still pale.  


"What do you know about international wizarding law?" Mr. Weasley asked, directing his question at Hermione, who perked up slightly.  


"I haven't taken any politics classes yet, but I have read up on it," Hermione admitted, slightly embarrassed that she hadn't enrolled in a class that could have been so helpful.  


"Unlike the Muggle world, wizards keep themselves segregated. Nations do not interact with others unless under the gravest of circumstances well, save for Quidditch and trade. There is little tolerance for difference, and like I said at the Quidditch World Cup, there is a large superiority complex among our kind."  


The clearing of a throat from the kitchen doorway interrupted Mr. Weasley, and in unison, Harry, Hermione, and Ron turned to see Bill standing in the doorway. He hadn't changed much from when Harry had last seen him. He was wearing a pair of black slacks which were too long for him, and the ends of his black, slightly scuffed, steel-toed dragon-hide shoes peaked from under the long material. He had a white T-shirt on, which Harry thought was slightly tight, accentuating muscles Harry didn't even know existed. There were three more piercings in his left ear, but Harry couldn't make out what adorned the earrings. Bill's hair was now chin length and parted down the middle, tucked behind his ears.   


"Dad, we think we have it," Bill announced, his hands shoved into his front pockets. He cast a quick glance at Harry and offered him a weak smile.  


"We'll be there in a few minutes," Mr. Weasley replied, "A few more things must be explained first."   


"When's Percy supposed to be home again?" Bill asked, glancing up at the large clock on the wall. Percy's arrow still read "Work." There was a slight look of apprehension on Mr. Weasley's face before he answered.  


"I asked him to look into some matters for me I know it isn't his jurisdiction, per say, but he jumped at the chance at getting to interview prominent officials regarding illegally charming Muggle items. It should take him a few hours I hope," Mr. Weasley said, and then turned back to the three on the sofa. "International laws have been formulated to minimize contact between the countries. This will do to our advantage."  


"What sort of traveling charms did you receive last year?" Mrs. Weasley asked, having seemed to awake from her incessant rocking and worrying.  


For the Hogwarts students to travel to Salem, every student had to be issued owl-order international traveling charms, or more formally called International Apparation Certificates. Why they were called certificates was beyond Harry. After filling out the forms and having them notarized by an official Minister Department Head (something Dumbledore just happened to be, being the Headmaster of a state school) the forms were sent to the Ministry of International Civilian Relations. And upon processing, the proper charms were sent back to whoever filled out the form. They were sent in envelopes enchanted to open only after being hit with the Alohomora spell from the registered wand of the recipient, and once opened, the charms were self-cast upon the receiver.   


All Hogwarts students who didn't already have an IAC received the Student Travel version, which allowed admittance into any magical country that had an upper-divisional magical academy. There were only 50 in the world, the majority being in the Americas, Europe, and Asia.   


Why they were called Apparation certificates was also beyond Harry, because they didn't just allow Apparation, but the use of port-keys and broom-flying into a country.   


"Student IACs," Hermione answered.  


"Both America and Guatemala are included in that certificate," Mr. Weasley said, a slight tone of relief in his voice.  


"If I'm suspected of murder, the Ministry isn't going to let me leave the country," Harry said dejectedly.  


"They aren't going to like it," Mr. Weasley conceded, "But, like I said, I personally don't know anyone at the Ministry who'd jump at the chance to take you in for questioning about your Aunt and Uncle's murder. They won't be thrilled to see you leave, but wherever you go, Harry, people will know you're name, know you're face. The Ministry will easily keep track of you, and they will never worry of losing you."  


"Won't they just come after me well, once they've exhausted all the possibilities. Won't they want to interview me about my last moments with them?" Harry asked, horribly confused. If the Ministry were indeed so worried about the murders of the Dursleys, would they really just let Harry waltz out of the country?  


"They can't." It was Hermione who said this, and a smile was now replacing her frown. "That's brilliant Mr. Weasley! Sheer brilliance."  


"It was my idea!" Bill called from the other room.  


"You, Harry, have been dueling your past year at Hogwarts, have you not?" Mr. Weasley pressed.  


"Yes," Harry replied, "but you knew that."  


"And so does the rest of the magical world," Mrs. Weasley replied. Harry cast her a withering glance. "_Witch Weekly_ follows up on you regularly," Mrs. Weasley clarified.  


"And, one of your friends, which is what the majority of the population know Adrienne as, is participating in the International Dueling Championship. It wouldn't arise much suspicion if you left England to attend the Championship. The Ministry would keep tabs on you the entire time, which is for certain. But if you return to Hogwarts in the fall, all suspicion aroused during your international travels will be erased and you will once again just be seen as a murder suspect, not as one who fled the country," Mr. Weasley explained.   


"But why wouldn't the Ministry just come after me. You said yourself that they think I'm the only one possible of well you said that they'd come after me soon. Why would an international barrier prevent that?" Harry asked, confused.  


"Because Harry, like Mr. Weasley said, the wizarding nations do not interact regularly. And, the Ministry here knows that there is no way of convincing Guatemala or America to deport you they wouldn't understand the reasoning on why you "have" to be the murderer. The nations would take it as an insult, as if Britain didn't believe that those countries were good enough to house the infamous Harry Potter, and that Britain is so jealous that she would concoct stories pinning the very public death of the Dursleys on you." Hermione said this all very rapidly, and without emotion, as if she were working something else out in her mind at the same time.  


"There is so much distrust, Harry, and with the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, all international relationships that had risen during that occasion have all but disintegrated. The governments see no use for interactions other than concerning Quidditch and trade. The Ministry, Harry is very patient. They will wait until you return to take the train back to Hogwarts, and then they will arrest you," Mr. Weasleys said this last part so frankly that Harry shuddered.  


"So, if I leave the country and don't come back, it just confirms that I'm a murderer. If I come back to Britain it gives me a little credibility but I still get arrested? That doesn't sound like a winning plan to me," Harry said irritably. "Why don't I just not come back? From what you say, as long as I stay out of Britain, then I won't be arrested."  


"If they don't think you're coming back, Harry the Ministry will order your deportation."  


"But you said he can't be deported," Ron argued back, thoroughly confused.  


"Oh he can it would just cause excess grief for the Ministry. The Ministry can issue trade sanctions. America and Guatemala have many trade interests with us: If the Ministry puts enough pressure on them, they will eventually comply. It would take longer than the summer though, which is why the Ministry would rather wait you out, and it would cause greater international tensions than the Ministry would like," Mr. Weasley explained.  


Harry lowered his head into his hands. None of this made sense to him. Could he really trust unspoken rules about international relations to keep him from being arrested for a crime he didn't commit?   


"So I come back or the entire country I'm in suffers economically and when I do come back, I'm arrested," Harry murmured.  


"Not technically," Mrs. Weasley said. Her voice was low and motherly now.  


"Oh my aching mind," Harry moaned.   


"You cannot be arrested at Hogwarts, Harry," Hermione said soothingly, fighting back the desire to inform him that if he would have read "Hogwarts: A History," he would have known that. "Hogwarts was developed as a safe haven for magical children. When, as a student, you step foot on the Hogwarts grounds, Harry, you receive a temporary immunity from past digressions. That means, if the Ministry doesn't arrest you before you enter school, they must wait until a holiday to do so. The educational process is valued so greatly in our Ministry, that this law was put into place when Hogwarts was founded. There were people who opposed the formal training of pure-bloods along with that of Muggle-borns, and many magical law enforcers would order, with no pretence at all, the arrest of Muggle-borns who arrived at Hogwarts, only to prevent them from attending school. They would have ordered the arrest sooner, but they didn't always know who the Muggle-borns were until they arrived. The Ministry put a stop to this by declaring the school a political safe haven."  


"But, Harry, if someone commits a crime while on the Hogwarts grounds, or during the school term, then they can be subject to arrest," Mr. Weasley interrupted.   


"So how do I get from America to Hogwarts without being arrested?" Harry asked. He felt as if his head would explode from all the information, especially as it made no sense.  


"That will be arranged by Dumbledore; we just get you out of the country," Mr. Weasley said.   


Harry sat quietly in his seat. He felt numb, however, he couldn't tell yet with what. He wasn't exactly scared, nor was he exactly sad, but he was a strange mixture of both, one which he didn't like. He supposed he should be either pacing frantically by now, trying to argue that nothing made sense, and then he supposed he should be crying also, as wasn't that what you were supposed to do when someone you know dies? But at this point, he didn't feel like pacing or crying. All he felt like doing was sitting quietly, which the Weasleys weren't going to let him do.  


Mrs. Weasley had taken leave of her station at the rocking chair, and had disappeared into the kitchen, where faint echoes of murmurs emitted. Harry had watched her leave, and his eyes lingered on the doorway, wondering what she had gone to do.   


"Harry, are you all right?" Mr. Weasley asked in a tender voice, his eyes fixated upon the boy.  


Harry didn't answer for a moment, fighting off the mad urge to yell that of course he wasn't all right he was being framed for murder, his aunt, uncle, and cousin were dead, and now he was fleeing the country, in the loosest sense of the word, as he was intending on coming back. Instead of saying anything, not trusting himself to even open his mouth, Harry just smiled a depressed half-smile.  


"Does anyone at Salem know already?" Hermione asked.  


"We've sent an owl announcing your early arrival, but the wizarding wireless has reported a storm off the American East Coast, Pig might get caught in it," Mr. Weasley answered.  


Ron perked up at this. "What do you mean Pig?" he asked incredulously. "He's my damned owl! You shouldn't be sending him off on international missions without asking me."  


"You were in the attic," Mrs. Weasley replied, having just reentered the room, now void of her apron, which Harry thought was a good thing, as all the nervous twisting had just served to unnerve him more.  


"And why was thatbecause you locked me in the attic," Ron replied, careful not to yell, but his voice still strong with agitation.  


"Because we didn't need you running around the house worrying about Harry all day long." Mrs. Weasley glared at Ron, her facial expression chastising him for whining about his owl when Harry was sitting right next to him, in a far worse predicament, and not whining.  


"Are you sure this isn't going to backfire on me I'm not going to get to Salem and find out that my leaving has sent the Ministry into a huge witch-hunt, and suddenly I'm the most wanted person alive," Harry asked, still rather doubtful.  


"No one at the Ministry would be thrilled about having to arrest or investigate you. No one is thrilled about the entire affair at all, especially that you have been labeled a suspect. You're leaving will give them a chance to get everything organized, make sure they aren't making a mistake — "  


"But when I come back they'll still be waiting to arrest me," Harry interrupted Mr. Weasley.  


"And," Mr. Weasley ignored Harry's last comment, "your leaving allows us time to try and figure out who really did kill them."  


Harry stared at Mr. Weasley as a new question began to formulate in his mind. What about my Aunt, Uncle, and Dudley? What are we going to tell the neighbors. There'll be a funeral, I should really be there. And then, if the Prophet gets a hold of me skipping the country after my family's been murdered they'll think that heartless, Harry said softly.  


to the public, it wouldn't look unseemly if you and your close friends escaped for a holiday, to allow you to come to terms with the latest tragedy in your life. And the Ministry will take care of the relations with the Muggles. The Muggles who knew them wouldn't expect you to attend the funeral anyway aren't you supposed to be criminally insane or something. That St. Brutus' Secure Center for Merlin knows what weren't they spreading that story around? Mr. Weasley asked.  


St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, Harry corrected. He stared off into space again. It seemed that Mr. Weasley had everything worked out, but Harry was still horribly worried. Many things Mr. Weasley had said were contradictory, as if he had formulated his plan on the chances of mere luck intervening to make it work. And what was it that he said about when the Ministry finally came for him, there'd be no stopping them, and now Mr. Weasley said it was perfectly fine for Harry to skip the country, like a common criminal would do. But, the longer Harry continued to sit there and work everything through his tired mind, the more hazy his thoughts became, and then, there was really nothing left to do, but to trust Mr. Weasley.  


Harry rubbed his face and then leaned forward. "What time should we leave?" he asked softly.  


"As soon as possible. Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George have been working on the port-key for several hours now. Usually when we're traveling, I make the port-key, or I ask a friend at the Ministry to do so for me. But, given the circumstances of today, I couldn't do either," Mr. Weasley replied, standing up and motioning the three to follow him back into the kitchen.  


Harry and Hermione exchanged horrified looks when Mr. Weasley mentioned Fred and George, both of them thinking the same thing: There was no way they'd ever use a port-key Fred and George made it just couldn't be safe.  
Ron must have known what they were thinking. "A lot of their joke products require advanced transfiguration. Seems that they actually paid attention in that class. I wouldn't doubt their ability to make a port-key," Ron reassured them.  


Harry was going to ask if Fred and George had said anything about opening a joke shop, as they had plenty of money to do so, but Harry didn't think this was an appropriate time.  


"We've set it to take you to the path right before the Salem gates. They don't have their wards down like they did when you traveled there in May, so you can't port-key right onto the grounds," Charlie said as soon as everyone had piled into the kitchen.  


There, in the corner, stood someone Harry hadn't seen at all until now: Ginny. She was wearing long pants and a red T-shirt, and was watching the scene before her with a sad expression. Harry knew that Ginny had taken up many political electives, something not even Hermione had done, as she had never been horribly interested in magical politics. Harry wondered how much Ginny understood of the situation.   


"Hallo Ginny," Harry said, trying to get her attention. Ginny looked at him and offered him a reassuring smile.   


"Hallo Harry," she replied, but she didn't move out of her corner.   


The dishtowel that the four Weasley boys had been toiling over when Harry had exited the fireplace now lay untouched upon the scrubbed table. It looked just like any ordinary dishtowel, and could have passed for one that Aunt Petunia would own, had it been not so worn and ratty. The colors were faded and there were holes at the seams around the edges, but there was nothing to indicate that this dishtowel was in fact, magically enhanced. This, Harry supposed, was the beauty and efficiency of using such ordinary and common household items as transportation devices.   


"Please be careful. All of you," Mrs. Weasley instructed, her eyes over bright, but her face forced into a composed expression. Harry had never felt the eyes of another as he did that moment. He supposed he had never felt the glare of love and worry, as his own mother never lived long enough to engrain these moments into his memory, and it was that for which he was most grateful for Mrs. Weasley. She may never replace his mother, but her loving actions always seemed to comfort Harry, if only in the slightest.  


Harry wondered if Professor Hartel had the same effect on Adrienne. He knew from experience that Mia cared greatly for Adrienne, but he wasn't sure if Adrienne even realized this, or if she appreciated this. Harry had the feeling that Adrienne tried to hide as many emotions as possible, and she was good at it.  


"Listen to everyone at Salem, and please, don't go around looking for trouble," Mr. Weasley instructed, and Harry once again found himself trying to control his abashment at realizing that others seemed to think that he often foolishly gallivanted around begging trouble to find him. "Don't answer questions, Harry. Especially those referring to your family."  


Harry nodded his understanding, his eyes returning to Ginny, who was staring with a new expression, one of what looked unmistakably like wistfulness. Harry cursed himself silently. None of them had ever thought of inviting Ginny. Ginny was an amazing dueler, of course she'd want to come along. But there wasn't any time, because Mrs. Weasley was already hugging and kissing Hermione, whispering words in her ear that Harry couldn't make out. And then, before he knew it, Mrs. Weasley had wrapped her arms around him and had engulfed him in a horribly tight hug, and then she kissed his forehead, staring into his eyes and telling him to keep a low profile and to be careful.   


Harry glanced back to Ginny once Mrs. Weasley had left him and moved on to Ron. Something in Harry's mind told him to offer Ginny to come along. But, suddenly, Harry couldn't even think straight, as the horrible realization had finally truely dawned upon him Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were dead. Dead.   


A horrible feeling surfaced in Harry's stomach, and the room began to spin, but no one noticed anything, and Harry was unaware of his hand unconsciously reaching for the port-key, alongside Hermione and Ron. And then, the familiar hooking behind his navel began, and he was thrown forward, all thoughts of inviting Ginny left behind in the kitchen, where seven people stood staring at the place where Harry, Ron, and Hermione had once been.   


The port-key reminded Harry greatly of how he felt. His mind completely understood the swirling and unattached visions that were flying around Harry as he continued to travel.   


Had they felt anything? Did they suffer? Or was it instantaneous? Had they ever contemplated the idea that by taking in Harry, they'd be placing their own lives in jeopardy, placing their own lives into a game of cat and mouse, which definitely was not going in Harry's favor. And before his mind could draw any conclusions from its troubled thoughts, Harry's feet hit solid land with a sudden jerk, and he fell forward, having been unprepared for the spell's completion.  


There were two other thumps, and then, two other figures lying on the ground besides him, their trunks lying behind them, having been let go with the sudden jerk of meeting the unmoving ground.   


"There has to be a less violent way of traveling," Hermione murmured, sitting up and rubbing her shoulders, where she had been twisted to the point that she had thought she might arrive at Salem with a dislocated shoulder.   


"You just aren't used to them," Ron said defensively, pulling himself up as if he frequently spun his way across half the world and then was splattered upon the ground.   


"Harry?"   


Harry had propped his head on his hands and was staring ahead toward the wrought-iron gates that read "Salem Academy for Magical Studies." Yet, he wasn't seeing them, instead, he saw an image of the three people he had known longest in his life, lying lifeless upon their table, their lives having been stolen right from under them, right from under himbecause of him.  


"Harry?"  


Harry slowly sat up and looked at Hermione, who was staring at him with a worried expression.  


"I suppose we should go find Adrienne," he murmured, standing up and brushing the debris from his clothes, which had clung to with static electricity generated from the travel.  


"Harry, we really need to talk," Hermione said, looking past him to Ron, who was nodding her on.  


"Let's talk later," Harry replied, "We should really explain our presence to whoever's in charge here."  


Harry reached down and began dragging his trunk behind him, weaving a trail upon the leaf-covered path, his head hung slightly.  


Hermione and Ron stared after him. "What do you propose we do, professor?" Ron asked sullenly.  


Hermione didn't even express annoyance for his quip about her intelligence, instead she just sighed. "Follow him, I suppose."  


And so, with great effort, they did.  


The three walked in silence, Harry leading the way, staring intently ahead, as the Salem castle grew closer. He wondered where he'd have to go to find a professor: He didn't fancy walking aimlessly around the castle searching for someone to whom to explain their impromptu arrival. He didn't have to think much about this though, as just then, the front doors opened and someone emerged, someone, who if she hadn't been looking at her feet, would have realized who was approaching.  


Adrienne flopped down upon the stone steps and leaned forward, lowering her face to her outstretched legs and stretching her muscles, taking deep breaths and beginning the process of clearing her mind, something she really needed to do just then.  


She had been dueling with Professor Hartel, and had never lost so badly to her in her life. Her body was aching from the curses that she had been unable to block, and she couldn't banish Mia's disappointed and frustrated chastises at Adrienne's horrible defeat. Adrienne glared at her legs and then jumped up, deciding that the only cure for her sudden bad mood was a good, long run to clear her mind and to release her frustrations.   


This was why when she finally realized that three people were approaching her, dragging trunks behind them, that she didn't give them an exciting nor happy expression, but one that expressed extreme annoyance at her therapeutic run being interrupted.  


"I didn't think you were coming until tomorrow," Adrienne snapped, pulling a leg behind her and continuing to stretch, although she knew that she wouldn't be running anytime soon now.   


"Nice to see you too," Hermione called, struck by the annoyance in Adrienne's usual happy-go-lucky voice.  


"Couldn't have owled ahead, eh?" Adrienne continued, breathing in heavily.   


"We tried, seems port-keys are quicker than owls," Ron replied, smiling at her.  


Adrienne didn't say anything to Hermione or Ron, but turned her attention to Harry, who had stayed uncharacteristically quiet through the last minute. She tilted her head and then began walking down the steps, staring at him curiously.  


Harry smiled slightly as she approached, not because he was happy, but because he figured it was the polite thing to do. She had her hair up in a tight pony tail, which wasn't very becoming, because it was horribly lopsided and there were strands of hair sticking up in unlikely places, as if she had done her hair in great haste. Her face was uncharacteristically flushed, and there seemed to be tiredness around her eyes. She was wearing a pair of soccer shorts, bright green in color, and she was wearing an emerald green t-shirt, the sleeves rolled under at the shoulders. Harry's eyes widened slightly as he read the wording printed across the front, in shining gold letters: Prepare to be Annihilated.  


Adrienne glanced down at her shirt, reading Harry's expression perfectly.  


"Oh, read the back," she ordered, and then turned around, revealing the words: 1996 Intl Dueling Championship. "Like it?" she asked, having twirled back around, her expression having changed from one of annoyance to one of great excitement and pride. "I have mine from the last two years, and now this one three total." Adrienne smiled as if everyone should stare in awe at her addition abilities.  


Harry stared at Adrienne, his eyes fixating on the writing: Prepare to be Annihilated, and he couldn't help but to wonder if at that moment, across an ocean, that same saying was taking on an all too real meaning.  


**_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _**  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

  


**Author's Note:** This chapter was finished Monday September 10, and it was my goal to post it Tuesday the 11th. In lieu of the recent events, I postponed posting until I felt comfortable in doing so. I know that the last few days have been very trying. I know that many of you have been affected in ways much more devastating than I have been. I pray that God gives you peace, and I pray that God guides our country and our leaders in their endeavor to avenge this tragedy. As alawys, thanks again to my amazing BETA-reader, Christine. And I'd like to give a special thanks to METMA-Mandy, for looking over the first half of this chapter as I was writing it.  


I do have a request for anyone capable of helping me. I love Latin music, which is why I wanted the Dueling Tournament set in Latin America the problem is, I don't know any Guatemalan music groups and I haven't been able to find any. I do listen to Spanish music in general (as I live a whole hour away from Mexico) but I'd really like to have some knowledge of Guatemalan music so if anyone knows of any groups or any sites that would allow me to learn and listen, please e-mail me.   


A big thanks to all who reviewed, including but not limited to:  


***Brtiz*** (Um.. Guatemala? I don't know how I came up with that I think it was just a random working of my mind. I do speak Spanish though, so that played into it slightly... and the entire Latin music thing),  
**Airemay** (How do I make you mad at the characters? Now I'm interested :) I liked Pete too, and that does seem to be the general consensus from everyone though, he isn't going to be back in the foreseeable future. Anger-management classes for Death Eaters? That sounds hilarious that's something I could see Adrienne telling them too bad you thought of it and not me. And I did love your story, I'm glad my review conveyed that),  
**Aislinn** (How do you say that? Because I love unusual names and always use them in my original stuff and I love how your name is spelt but I can't say it),  
**Amanda Mancini** (Sorry about the wait between chapters, I could give a really long explanation explaining why, but 1. no one would want to read it 2. it would be boring and 3. it would take time away from writing — hehe! I have read P.S., btw),  
**Arne** (YES! I think you're the only person who picked up on that without me giving them hints! Kudos for figuring the framing thing out),  
**Athena Black** (I want you with me next time I go exercising Hurry, Hurry, Hurry! That could come in handy for motivation — hehe),  
**BabBLGrl **(don't think I'll be having any more computer problems, or at least I hope not),  
**Charlie** (I'm sorry about being such a selfish bitch lately. I really am. I have craploads of homework until Friday October 5... I'll try my hardest to finish BtM2 that weekend. K?),  
**Chrissy **(spectacular? You thought chapter one was spectacular? Wow — thanks!),  
**Colorful** (Thanks... GS won an award maybe AE will maybe not who knows),  
**Crystal Music** (Nope, you didn't write me back, but I forgive you I forget to do things all the time too. Harry ate something besides his sandwich and apple it's there just a really short little blurb no one else picked up on it either, so don't worry),  
**Fallen*Angel** (You really think he had the flu? Well, you'll just have to wait and see cuz I've never seen anyone get over the flu that fast either And Adrienne will be back in the story from now on),  
**Freda Potter** (Got part of it right, didn't you? Well, sexy Harry will take quite some time to play into the story, but he'll be there eventually mostly in the final story just a tad in this one),  
**Hermione **(hey — thanks for catching the picture/pitcher thing I can't believe I missed that now I feel dumb. The Dudley underwear model? Well, I have to say that idea can never be fulfilled now),   
**Hermione A Snape** (Now you know what Avery did?),  
**Jen **(I owe you a huge thank you, Jen for putting up with me during the past days. I appreciate your patience and your listening to me thank you),  
**Jenna darling!** (And, I think I'll have to use that Marmoset idea and of course I'll give you credit for it! And again, CONGRATS on your dancing!!)  
**Katameran** (I can't wait until you finish your next fairy tale spoof!! So write away, darling, write away!),  
**Lady Aquila (**Yes, you make perfect sense),  
**Lauren **(Ah as usual, my longest reviewer :) Yup, now you and Adrienne have something in common though I don't know how much of a compliment that is, cuz she isn't the most amazingly able person but still, the same vocabulary I guess. And, to set you straight, my thanks section only takes up a page and a half hehe!!! And, thanks for everything... knowing you're there really helps. Lylas),  
**Lucky Woods** (I can't say for sure when the next part with Mr. Malfoy will be coming up, as all my chapters aren't set in stone until the moment I post them. There will be plenty of Mr. Malfoy through the middle and end for sure though),  
**Lyndsi **(I've been spending lots of time thinking of what kind of child Mia and Joe would have not that I'm saying they will have one it just keeps me entertained during class and I've come to the conclusion that neither Mia or Joe are horribly apt parents, so between them and Adrienne problem child might be an understatement),  
**Maxwell Coffee House** (I'm glad you liked my portrayal of Herm's family, I was slightly worried that everyone would hate it),  
**METMA Mandy** (Thanks so much for reading part of the chapter! I really appreciate it! And about Pete he won't be back, or at least, not in this story maybe in the next one, but I seriously doubt it),  
**Miss Liss** (From now on there will be plenty of Adrienne so don't worry),  
**Midnight Lady** (Everyone tells me I always write cliffhangers but I don't mean to. I guess that's the only way I ever end chapters even in my original works),  
**Night Owl** (I don't think anyone saw Hermione as rich except me but I might just be weird like that),  
**PixyChick **(Glad your b-day was great! I think all your questions as of last chapter are answered by now or at least I think I answered them),  
**Rachael** (It's been so great talking to you!! I wish I could be online more this week... but I have even more homework than last week... if that's even possible. But I'm sure we'll talk soon!! Enjoy your week!) **Ravenclaw Filly** (I tried to get this out as soon as possible and I'm still trying),  
**Robbie!** (I haven't read your story yet, sweetie.. sorry. I wrote this when I was ill yes again, but you know me, the moment I'm healthy for more than the week is the moment we all run to the newspapers. I just didn't want to read your chapter and then miss something because I didn't feel well. I will edit it this week though, promise! And then I told you I'd edit it before I did my html... but I didn't do my html, a friend in the dorm did it real quick for me... so now I even have more time to edit your story!!!! Good luck with all your classes darlin!!)  
**Shadow** (Ok — so you are the second person to figure out what's happening kudos for you!),  
**Shadow Dancer (**Hermione's parents won't be around for a while I actually can't say when we'll see them next, but they will be in the story at some time, probably a lot later though),  
**Silver Cat **(I don't know if I'd call this a hit but I appreciate your encouragement!),  
**Smiley Chic** (Wow — that first line made me listen hehe glad to know you like it),  
**Sofie** (I'll send you that recipe as soon as I go back home so that will have to be this weekend, but I'll send it then — it's good! You HAVE to make it!),  
**Tahlya** (Hey, did you get my e-mail?),  
**Too Many Cheering Charms** (Again, sorry for the wait but I don't think I really need to explain, as I think it goes for everyone right now),  
**Veronica Lupin** (Would you believe that I NEVER got an author alert saying you'd posted chapter 4!!!!!!! So boy was I ever surprised when I went to your page and saw the newest chapter! It was a good surprise though!... but it won't let me review... everytime I send a review, FFN goes all weird... but I'm still trying to send one... I may just end up writing one and e-mailing it to you... gosh, I swear FFN hates me),  
**Viv** (For a while there when you weren't online... I was so worried... but I'm chatting with you right now... so all is good and I'm happy again!!! :) ),  
  
  



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